Neophytes
by Got Buttermilk
Summary: The war is over. Their planet is revived. But there are other kinds of foreign territories to be explodered; after all, love and peace are still alien concepts to them. . . Optimus/Starscream -ON HOLD-
1. New Impressions

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GAAAH! . . . A new fandom! ! ?

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**Title**: Neophytes

**Pairings**: Optimus/Starscream, Skyfire/Starscream-one-sided, Prowl/Jazz, vaguely hinted Hot Rod-gone-Rodimus Prime/Kup

**Warnings**: OP/SS, obviously? AU-ish, Character death, Unbetaed, Canon-ignorant author (Don't judge meeeee)

**Universe**: G1-ish

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**A/N**: Okay. . . Okay, deep breaths, Got Buttermilk! Even if you _know _how the Transformers G1 Canon goes, who lives and who dies, it doesn't necessarily _mean _that this little experiment blows, just because you absolutely, totally _changed everything_! Waugh!

No, what I meant to say is that I really like this pairing! Not too many of them, though; yet those stories out there with OP/SS are usually pretty, darn good! Pressure's ON :3 Anyway, I wanted to try and write one myself; a story in which the war is over, the different factions tries to live alongside each other, their epic love ain't taboo etc., etc. . . . And thus I bring you this ;D

**Enjoy! Please Read and Review.**

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**Chapter I . . . New Impressions**

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Optimus enjoyed the loud chatter, the vague music, and the 'bots he was celebrating the revival of the Cybertronian Parliament with; Autobots, Decepticons and neutrals alike.

Ever since the homecoming to Cybertron, the installation of new machinery, the establishment of their new alliances, and the first harvest of pure, phosphorus energon, he had been in a fairly good mood. The starvation would finally come to an end, the fallen towers were being re-designed and rebuild, and most importantly: the ancient propagandas and cultural differences were being dealt with, discussed, solved.

So that the war would never start again. So that the war could _never_ drag them into the dark abyss of destruction and death again.

Over.

_Yes._

And all the Elites and politicians of Cybertron, both the old and the new members of the Parliament, even those his own men had fought against back on Earth, were gathered that evening, not unlike so many others, to be together, marvel at the newness of being one population, one organism. Purple icons, red icons, no icons. It didn't matter tonight. Hopefully it would never matter again.

Optimus smiled softly. At the moment he was humouring the new Prime, the young Rodimus. The young 'bot had hero-worshiped him since back when he was Hot Rod, racing and flashy sportscar. Now he was trying to keep his posture noble and impressive-looking. But his excitement was difficult for him to contain.

"I can't seem to say it right, Optimus. Is it 'Autobots, roll off'?"

A chuckle.

"Honestly, Rodimus, it is not necessary for the Prime to say that. It was merely a rare, strange impulse of imagination in our time on Earth. As the new Prime, you should make something of your own, instead. Something that you'll like to be remembered for after your time is over."

"I can still _never_ thank you enough for considering me worthy of being the bearer of the Matrix, Pri- I mean Optimus!"

"There is nothing to 'thank' me for. You've proven yourself brave enough, wise enough, and certainly patient enough to be the Prime." Optimus smiled, gesturing discreetly at Kup, who was watching them like a turbo-fox, observant and anxious.

"No, no, Kup is being very sweet and patient with _me_," Rodimus slurred softly, slurping down his cube of neon-pink high-grade. "I love having him for my mentor!"

"Is that so," Optimus couldn't suppress a grin behind his face-mask. Rodimus nodded eagerly.

"By the way, why don't you ever take off your battle-mask-"

Kup came marching over, pained and awkward expression in place.

"I think you've had enough," Kup fussed, putting his larger servos on the new Prime's red and orange shoulders. "Don't bother Optimus with more of your drunken babbling, you're being a nuisance and an embarrassment to the name of the Primes."

"I'm not drunk!" Rodimus exclaimed a little too loudly, leaning into the touch of the old Autobot, swayed lightly.

"Sure. And my aft is made of cheese-cake."

"Oh, those humans absolutely love this 'cheese-cake'-thing! They say it makes them gain in mass, though. . ." The younger, brightly-coloured 'bot allowed his elder and mentor to pull him away, towards a corner of the Great Hall of Primes where he no doubt would be scolded; before praised for trying his best.

"Sorry about that, Optimus. _Damn neophytes_," Kup tossed over his shoulder at Optimus as they walked off. The former Prime smiled warmly, laughed inwardly.

The war was over. Peace had come. But every time he smiled or laughed, all the others saw was his Autobot-blue optics lightening up. His face-mask hid the rest. After what felt like an eon of wearing it he didn't know if he'd ever be brave enough to take it off.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity ago, now. The last battle on Earth. Smoke, explosions, wheels burning into the scorched dessert sand.

Optimus found that his memories of the battle against Megatron themselves were foggy and disconnected. Almost like a dream, like something that had never happened. He had some memory-vision-snapshots of the large, grey mech snarling insults and threats like always, visions of a fusion cannon being shot at him. Images of himself wrestling his opponent into the sands, trying to tear him apart, put an end to the war once and for all.

In the end it had been two very lucky shots, courtesy of Sunstreaker and Bumblebee, that nearly off-lined the leader of the Decepticons. Prowl and Ratchet comm. linked the trunk-transformer, gave him the coordinates of his fallen nemesis. One blow to his spark-chamber had finished him off.

There had been an intense silence after Megatron's spark extinguished and his optics turned a dull shade of grey. All battle seized up, eyes studying the Prime as he bowed his head in acceptance and farewell to the dead mech in the dust at his feet.

The remaining Decepticons were shocked to their very core. Soundwave didn't move at all. His eyes and mind scanned the lifeless 'bot that had promised them victory and glory only a few breems ago again and again. His Casseticons were lingering near him, uncertain and a little frightened. Losing a battle they knew all to well. Losing Megatron forever had never even crossed their processors once.

The Seekers were interesting to watch. Optimus remembered the three brightly-coloured jets landing in the sand, fascinatingly near Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, their very own nemeses. Thundercracker had been quiet, holding a shuddering Skywarp in his arms, the slightly younger Seeker paralyzed and unsteady on his pedals.

Starscream, however, had landed, waited for a klik; but then he moved towards Optimus and Megatron, eyes glued to his leader all the time; expressionless. The sun had reflected beautifully in his red, shiny platings; his optics had glistened with his many thoughts.

It hadn't really been appropriate, but right there at the end of the battle, with Megatron dead at his feet, his nemesis' energon dripping from his big, scarred servos, no mech or femme had ever looked as beautiful as Starscream did right there in the heated dessert.

The youngest Seeker stared at the dead corpse of metal below them, then he snapped his head up and met Optimus' admiring yet watchful optics. No words were spoken for a while, the only sound was the sudden, sobbing hiccups from Skywarp, as he surrendered to the shell-shocking sight in front of him.

Everybody realized it, finally. Megatron was dead. Gone. Forever.

_It was over._

Starscream snapped his optics from Optimus' and stared carefully at his fallen leader, again. Then he, too, nodded in acceptance and farewell, before turning towards his allies, spoke to the other:

"We'll need a few days of rest and recovery. Then we will discuss the future of our stay here, on Earth."

"I accept your demands, Starscream." Optimus replied gently. Skywarp sobbed somewhere behind them, pressed himself to his older trine-mate. Thundercrakcer held him even closer, off-lined his optics.

With that the Autobots returned to the Arc in silence, also in shock. Three human days passed in a blur, no words were spoken. Teletraan-1 was quiet and watchful.

Then the message from the new Decepticon _Leaders _arrived:

_We need to talk. Where can we meet?_

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The new Decepticon Leaders had been Soundwave, Shockwave and Starscream. When back on Earth Spike had joked about it, called them a Holy Trinity of sorts. Why? Because together, despite their differences, things seemed to work out.

Optimus, Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet and Red Alert had met with the three Decepticons in a far away forest. No need to involve the humans yet. Not until they knew of the others' intentions.

The Autobots had been surprised by the opposing faction's willingness to end the war, to ally themselves with the others. They quickly set up a strategy for the future survival of Cybertron, contacted the human governments, asked for their cooperation. Supplied with energon compressors and other machinery, they returned to the dying planet as a united troop of saints.

Everything only lit up after that. . .

Optimus looked around in the Great Hall of Primes.

The bright-shining lights, the luminous glow from their revived planet outside the windows, the access to legally obtained, pure, white energon and high-grades in every colour of the spectrum, the Decepticons and Autobots, together, celebrating yet another victorious stellar-cycle of team-work.

Mind you, Optimus thought, there was still a visible, dividing line between the factions.

It was the truth, and a sensible truth at that. Enough time had not passed for the Decepticons and the Autobots to truly _mingle_, as the humans called it. Yet the mood wasn't unpleasantly hostile. Only peaceful and slightly wary. But it was sufficient for now. Peace was a foreign concept in their processors. It would take time to adjust, fully.

_It was sheer luck that their systems hadn't ejected it, yet; mistaking it for a virus__-caused dream-vision, really._

Optimus chuckled audibly. Jazz had been the one to say that. Right after his Bonding Ceremony with Prowl.

It had been a relief and a joyous event, naturally, for the Autobots to see the SIC and TIC end their otherwise never-ending dance around each other. For vorns the residents of the Arc had watched in painful impatience as the easy-going Special Ops. agent and the thoughtful, quiet tactician had flirted more or less discreetly. But _never _had they allowed their relationship to evolve beyond a friendship with intensely stronger undertones.

Optimus was horrified, proud and guilty-feeling when he realized that it was the positions he had given them, and the war, naturally, that kept the two love-struck mechs from giving in to their emotions and wants. If they got carried away, too emotionally involved, _bonded_ even, during the war, then the death of one of them would mean the death of the other. Then the Prime would have lost two of his greatest cards in the greater scheme of things.

But he would have lost two dear friends as well.

After the revival of Cybertron an entertaining series of courtship-events had taken place. Nearly desperate with their needs to be together, at last, Prowl and Jazz had chased each other around like love-sick younglings; gifts, dates and awkward yet truthful words were shared.

They quickly found a date for their Bonding Ceremony – it couldn't happen soon enough.

It must have been nice, Optimus pondered as he studied the still newly-bonded black-and-white mechs, holding onto each others' arms, talking silently. It must have been nice for them to know what they wanted to happen after the war.

Optimus himself was lost. He was happy for them, no doubt, but somehow there was still a silent, gaping emptiness singing from his core. It had grown more obvious after he bestowed Hot Rod with the Matrix of Leadership. The empty space the Matrix used to claim suddenly demanded to be filled. But how could he fill it, when despite of being a nearly ordinary mech again, he was still considered the very portrayal of a Cybertronian Prime.

And Primes were the lone leaders, watching, guiding and protecting their people.

Optimus stared at his battle-scarred servos. He remembered the long, hideous scar across his lip-platings, unseen behind his faithful face-mask.

Primes weren't really expected to look after themselves.

Jazz was laughing loudly at something Prowl said, the larger of the two rolled his optics in a very un-like-Prowl manner. Kup was explaining something to an eagerly listening, young Rodimus Prime.

It would be nice, yet impossible, to return to the life of Orion Pax, the dock-worker. He was an important political figure on their planet, and a source of guidance for the new Prime among other 'bots. His wisdom, knowledge and experience couldn't and shouldn't be wasted, for the sake of the future of Cybertron. But it was pleasant, sometimes, to imagine returning to a life where all he strived for was peace, friends, love and family.

He had the first two.

Optimus' train of thoughts war interrupted as the mighty giant, Skyfire, rushed pass him, his impressively long, broad wings banging into several mechs and femmes on his way through the Autobot crowd.

Optimus sighed inwardly, already knowing of the space shuttle's destination: the table of high-grade cubes in the middle of the room.

It had been a tradition of sorts at every social event since the end of the war that the middle-table, right between the dividing line of Decepticons and Autobots, was the meeting-place of the factions. This was where Skyfire and Starscream, former fellow-scientists, met. Talked.

Rebuilt their lost friend- and professional partner-ship, really.

Both of the flying mechs had brought a lot of attention to themselves with their eagerness to save their friendship; the friendship that had been doomed since the beginning of the war. At first they had been so very awkward, impatient, yet self-conscious.

The gentle giant and the feisty Seeker had worked hard to regain the trust they'd held in each other once. And they were achieving it at a slow, steady pace.

Or that was until Skyfire began touching the jet with timid caresses, spoke lowly to him, flirted in his own unique, careful way. Starscream had been in shock. That much was obvious.

Of course Optimus knew that the larger scientist's feeling for Starscream ran deeper than simple camaraderie, but the eager, longing attempts at courtship had surprised many in his factions. And the Decepticons seemed just as awed.

But Starscream wasn't amused. He seemed downright saddened and frustrated about it.

Optimus had observed the Seeker shake his head, pull his servos from the giant's hands, tell him 'no' and 'stop'. But the fact that he kept up with the tradition to meet Skyfire at the middle-table, every time a gathering of the Elites and the politicians was held, only seemed to encourage the shuttle. He continued in his pursuit of the ruby-eyed beauty.

They met at the table. And Optimus watched as, once again, Skyfire strived for some short glimpses of consensuality, whilst the Seeker was determined to make the conversation continue in directions of policy, foreign galaxies, explorations. Anything but talking about a future that consisted of a Bonding Ceremony between the two of them.

Because Starscream didn't want Skyfire as a bond-mate. He wanted his friend back.

Now they were both upset.

Optimus watched in sadness as Skyfire took hold of the Seeker's white servo, spoke carefully to him, called him 'Star'.

'Star's' wings were at the moment rigid with frustration and anger, his pretty face screwed in an expression of hopelessness and fury. He hissed desperately as a pair of lips was pressed to his fingertips.

Suddenly he had had it. He bolted away, long limbs fleeing the scene, heading out of the Great Hall. Skyfire called for him but his friend Wheeljack pulled him away from the high-grade to somewhere private. Probably to calm him and ease his sorrow a little.

Optimus nodded at the smaller scientist as he pulled the shuttle away with him. But he also noted that no one made notion to follow Starscream. His former trine-mates weren't participating the gathering tonight, and otherwise they would have been the ones to follow him. Tonight no one would calm him, listen to his point of view. . .

Determined, the former Prime walked out of the Hall, optics scanned his environment, searched for the little Decepticon. Starscream had hid himself in a small, deserted office and he was pacing back and forth restlessly. His head snapped up when Optimus entered quietly.

His facial-plating showed a brief glimpse of relief and gratitude that it wasn't Skyfire that had come after him, but soon a sneer of distaste was thrown at the semi.

"'Come to talk some sense into me, Autobot? Force me to end your friend's loneliness?"

Optimus sighed.

"I would never force anyone to be together if that is not their own wish. Freedom is the right-"

"-of every sentient being, yeah, I know, I know," Starscream huffed, but visibly relaxed. ". . . But _thank you _anyway, I guess."

Optimus smiled, placed a hand on the other's shoulder.

"You're welcome, I guess," he studied the small Decepticon. "Are you alright, Starscream? Do you need to talk? It might help more than hiding alone in the darkness."

Starscream stared at him, stunned. Then he repeated:

"Am I alright, Autobot? Am I _alright_?"

"I do realize that it must have been a stupid question, but nonetheless it's more proper and informal than-"

The Seeker wasn't listening at the moment.

"_Alright_? . . . Feel it, _feel_ it!" the small Seeker hissed, static leaking into his vocals. He grasped for Optimus' servos, brought them to his chassis and placed them right under his brightly shining cock-pit. "I'm trembling! That big d-dope, that glitched fragger, he's so . . ."

Optimus was startled, but marvelled at the warm, shuddering rumbles from the inner mechanics of Starscream. The small Decepticon was pure sleek, streamlined heat between his scarred servos; the younger's shiny core was safely, but temptingly hidden behind an orange glass-shield. Optimus could feel its distress; its confusion, anger, shame and many other emotions. He felt how the other's spark pulsed rapidly for calming words, longed for normalcy and peace.

It saddened Optimus that Starscream still didn't feel like he had this, even then with Megatron gone, the war over, and Cybertron glowing and simply, gloriously _living _right outside the magnificent windows they were standing in front of.

Most of all it saddened Optimus that Starscream felt just as alone and confused as he did most of the time. Because he knew that unbearable ache all too well.

Why did they feel like that when billions of auto-mechanical organisms lived and thrived all around them?

"I'm sorry, Starscream," he murmured softly, slowly letting his hands warm and vibrate gently against the Seeker's abdominal platings. A little intimate, but very comforting. Starscream sighed as his trembling subdued slightly. He off-lined his optics for a klik, vents circling silently and thin servos gently returned the soft caress on Optimus' arm-platings.

"Skyfire might. . . be more understanding than you think he is. But not when he has had three cubes of high-grade. Perhaps you should visit him in his lab, talk to him?"

"Perhaps I should royally kick his aft." A huff and a sneer.

"Starscream-"

"Oh, but I _should_!" the Seeker cried triumphantly, shrill vocals echoing in the small space of the secluded office. "Every 'Con on Cybertron thinks I'm 'facin' him by now! Autobots, too! This will prove you, _all_ of you, wrong!"

"Violence will solve nothing, Starscream. It never solved much for the last millenniums. And besides -" Optimus countered, holding the smaller 'bot still with his strong hands. "No one in our fraction believes that the two of you are. . ." he winched as he said the word. "-'_facing _each other. We know that Skyfire's courtship isn't-"

"_Courtship!_" Starscream nearly choked on the word, suddenly struggling in the former Prime's grasp, wanting to get away, be alone. "He's not- w-we, aren't, no!" he sputtered.

Optimus released him, servos immediately mourning the loss of warm, pulsing metal they'd delighted in touching. Starscream paced back and forth, wings held high and painfully tense in his frustration.

And furious sorrow, Optimus would soon discover.

"That glitch isn't _courting _me, you fool! Nobody would want to court and bond with '_Screamer_'" Optimus winched at the mention of the hated nickname the Autobots and Decepticons alike had given him. The Seeker continued:

"He's just being a ridiculous, horny geek, hoping to have an easy and quick peek at a spark. And Primus knows _I'm_ the 'bot for the job!" he snarled, crimson optics burning with hurt and anger. "I know what I've been called over the span of my life: _whore, slut. Easy and accessible Starscream!_"

Optimus stared at the younger, more beautiful mech, waited. The other's anger had been quicker to subside since after Megatron's death and the return to Cybertron; and now the fury in the Seeker's facial plating eased into a sombre expression of the scientist he truly was inside. Knowledge and impressive patience.

All those good values that Megatron's rules, punishments, expectations and propaganda had forced Starscream to forget. Fool.

"But little did all of you know that I believe in those ancient, _important _promises to oneself," Starscream continued, voice lowered to a normal audio-level. "I believe in the 'Promise of the Bonding Night'."

Optimus' optics widened. The 'Promise of the Bonding Night' was an eon-old tradition from the days of the first Cybertronians. It was an oath a mech or a femme took just when the platings of their bodies began to harden, at the age of adolescence. An oath of chastity until the bonding night with the 'bot they wanted to spend the rest of eternity with.

Cybertronians rarely stayed true to such an oath any longer, believed it was their right and duty to explore the worlds of pleasure and intimacy before they settled down for real.

So for Starscream of all robots, the mech who was considered the greediest and most arrogant of all the Decepticons' on their planet, to believe in such an old tradition and _keep_ his promise to himself. . . Optimus was a little stunned.

"That's. . ."

"I know, I _know_!" the Seeker hissed, wings erect in stress and embarrassment at his little secret. "It's old-fashioned and stupid, but I think it's important!"

Optimus held up a servo in a quiet, calming manner. The other stilled and crossed his arms.

"No. I think that it is . . . very romantic, Starscream."

The 'Con stared, almost like he was in shock. Disbelief etched into every inch of his pretty, dark face, crimson optics wide and glowing. Optimus decided to open up some more, wanted the younger Seeker to feel at ease again, like before, when they had touched. . .

"My former tactician and Special Ops. agent might not have taken the oath you have, but they still waited a long, long time before bonding and sharing themselves with each other. And they knew of their feelings for way too long for it to have been pleasant."

Starscream was listening, his posture naturally regal and graceful, but his face bore the curiosity of a hatchling. Optimus liked the Seeker's gun-metal lips and clean, beautiful lines. The intensity of his ruby eyes.

"Their ceremony was quite sudden," he admitted, optics glowing fondly at the memory. "The invitation had been written in a haste and there was hardly any time for planning a party afterwards. But it was a very beautiful night, starry and warm. And they were so happy, Prowl and Jazz."

"I know of your Prowl," Starscream said, optical-brow quirked in interest at the mention of Optimus' former SIC. ". . . Is Jazz that slang-tossing idiot?"

"Jazz is no idiot," Optimus offered dumbly.

"Huh," the Seeker huffed again, lips pursed slightly. "I guess he _is _a little better than those damnable, rocketing Lamborghini-twins. . ."

"Anyway, Starscream," he continued softly, not trying to hide his amusement at that last comment. "I believe that for them to have waited so long for the days when they could peacefully and truly become one made it all the more special. . . I think it is romantic, Starscream. . . To wait for one's true love."

". . . Autobot sap," the smaller mumbled, facial plating heating up.

"Doesn't that make you a sap as well, hmm?"

"Don't push it." It seemed that Starscream had also obtained a little Earth-slang.

Optimus smiled behind his battle-mask.

"It's stupid," Starscream suddenly announced, looking the massive blue and red Autobot directly in the optics, face scrutinizing.

"Excuse me?"

". . . You're walking around, processor still well-functioning and logical in that sentient, caring, crappy-sort-of-way," he waved a servo at Optimus' chassis, right by the glass of his chest. "And yet they take the Matrix and put it in that little brat, Hot Rod. It's just stupid."

"It was. . . His name is Rodimus now, Rodimus Prime. And it was my choice," Optimus said, uncertain as to how he should react.

"_You_ decided to simply stop being 'The Prime'? _You_ gave up the Matrix of Leadership? Why would you do that, are you dying or something?"

". . . No, I'm not. And, yes, it was my decision. I'm not exactly what you would consider a young mech any longer, Starscream. The war is over, and I feel that perhaps. . ." Optimus hesitated.

"What?" the Seeker was curious and snapped in his sudden impatience. "You feel what?"

"I. . . I merely want to settle down, enjoy the happier days of our home. Visit Earth again, amongst other galaxies. . ."

Optimus trailed off, feeling a little foolish for sharing his secret wishes with the former Evil Decepticon Air Commander, King of the Sky, Starscream. But the younger mech simply glared incredulously with his jar slightly agape.

". . . Wow, that's, errr. . ."

"You don't have to say anything, Starscream," Optimus silently cursed his vocaliser for its little slip. He hadn't meant to share that with anyone anytime soon. "- You may forget what I just said."

Starscream's facial-plating turned into a very familiar expression: the twins had long ago dubbed it the 'Smirky Face'.

The 'Con, still standing near the former Prime, leaned closer. Optimus could hear the vague pulse-beat of his spark, the excess air rushing quietly from his vents, the soft chuckle from the Seeker's throat.

"No need to get all defensive, Optimus," he smiled as he formed the name with his lips, dental-plating and vocaliser. A shiver went down the larger mech's body. "You merely didn't strike me as the domestic kind of guy, after vorns of fighting off each other, beating each other to slag. . ."

"I suppose not. . ."

The Seeker put his thin, white servos on the larger's shoulder-plates, leaned closer, closer. . .

"The almighty Optimus Prime wants to _'settle down'_ . . . I guess there is more to you than meets the eyes, Autobot."

Starscream pressed his lips to Optimus' face-mask for a brief couple of kliks, nuzzled it. The blue and red 'bot was surprised at how quickly his body responded, and he felt the Seeker smirk even wider during the 'kiss' as he put one servo on his wing, felt it hesitantly, gliding his scarred, thick fingers up the sharp edge of the metal. The Seeker purred into his jaw, pressed their 'mouth-parts' together again, while the larger's other hand began feeling and tickling at the orange glass of the heated cock-pit.

After a while, as if realizing what they were doing, they stopped, stared dazedly at each other. Heated and surprised with themselves.

"I'm sorry, Starscream," Optimus was quick to retreat, pulled a little away, wanted to give the other some space. His circuits were whirling and his processor was circling as he tried to analyze what had happened. "I didn't mean to-, well, take advantage of you, or-"

Starscream raised his optical-brow yet again, faint smile in place. He seemed amused, but delighted.

"-What I meant was that I would never dishonour you oath, your 'Promise of the Bonding Night'. As you fellow professional, parliament politician I respect your views, I respect your origins. I respect you." Optimus shut his mouth.

Silence.

A snicker.

"Primus, _relax _. . . Just because I believe in the 'Promise of the Bonding Night' it doesn't mean I can't enjoy some good necking once in a while," came the reply, with an amused, bratty glint in those bright-red optics. "No harm ever came with that. . . Heeh, we should do this again. Definitely."

The red Decepticon grinned at him, before he turned and sashayed out of the room, the bright lights from the buzzing city glistening on his cherry-coloured hips and his proud, purple Decepticon-icons. Optimus was left staring as the door-panels shut close again, leaving him with his thoughts.

His thought, circling circuits, and a very active, pleasurably burning spark. The world continued on around him. There was laughter and music, somewhere. Reality? Probably.

Optimus smiled faintly. He was in no rush to join it, just yet.

~ ~ ~ FIN? ~ ~ ~

**Whooo - Optimus got to feel Starscream up at a party! Huzzah! :D **

**Urrr, I kinda hoped there would be more plot to this little thing, but it seems that this wanted to be all like: We're so alone - Boohoo! Let's discuss, flirt, make out and then agree on seeing each other again, cuz _you're_ kinda hawt and _I'm_ kinda hawt! **

**. . . But did'cha like it? **

**I dunno how, yet, but if you guys want it I can definitely make this into an ongoing fic with plot and everything (!), in which OP and Screamer's relationship gets to be developed into something borderline epic, but we also explore other pairings, the way of life on Cybertron, and how the politicians try to make the mill go 'round . . . Or som'thin' . . . Yay? **

**xD**

**Heeh, that depends on you guys :3 Wheee, it's outta my hands now! Chew it over, then tell me!**

**REVIEWZ ARE LUURV**


	2. New Complications

"**Imma police-car! In **_**space**_**!" ~ Prowl, 'Transformers Abridged', episode: 'Crack Wars', by JecklandHeckl **

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**Neophytes**

**Pairings: **Optimus/Starscream, vague Kup/Rodimus Prime, Prowl/Jazz, mentions of Prowl/Perceptor (!)

**Warnings for chapter: **Mechxmech-flirtatious lurving, Attempt at plot, OCs, Unbetaed, And a very small, implicit smex-scene

**A/N: **Thank you for your encouraging words! I was shocked to see how many people had put 'Neophytes' on Story Alert, Oooh, but in the GOOD way. However, I deemed it necessary to have some sort of idea where I want to take this before continuing my play-dates with our darling neophyte-'bots. And so I've spent some thoughtful time thinking out a . . . no – can it _be_? YES – a _plot_!

*insert joyous church-choir*

This very-much-indeed excellent, brilliant, fab-u-lous piece of randomness (read: crap) will have a slow but steadily building of a relationship, plotting and scheming, original characters (as few as possible, no fear!) adventure-ish drama, aaaaaand robot-smex (in the future. If ya guys want it. And if I gather enough courage.)

**Please Read and ****leave a Review for motivation and/or improvement! Anonymous reviews are enabled, too – whoop!**

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And, please, continue with being patient with my English – I'm hopelessly Danish :'D

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**Chapter II . . . ****New Complications**

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"Make. It. _Stop_." Ratchet grinded out between clenched dental-platings, his servos clawing into his seat. "I can't promise to hold my glossa much longer. . ."

Optimus raised an optic-brow at the medic, but otherwise did nothing.

They were seated in a dim-lighted room, Elites, Decepticons, Autobots, young and old. Rodimus and Kup sat at the centre of the many politicians and other parliament-members, like always during a discussion and debating-session, but the small space of the room made the buzzing of their stressed engines echo off the walls. Before the wars, there had been enough room for everybody. But now with Soundwave, Shockwave and Starscream seated in as well, representing their faction, it was a tight fit.

They weren't far away. Optimus could easily catch a glimpse of a purple icon, red-patterned wings. . .

"There is not much that can be done, Ratchet," he mumbled finally, softly to the white and red mech, leaned forward in his chair, tried to concentrate on the current issue up for debate instead of the memories of a ruby-eyed Seeker kissing and nuzzling his face-mask the night before. "The construction of the new Parliamentarian Hall has begun recently, but as they say: Iacon wasn't built in one day-"

"I didn't mean the fraggin' _room_, you glitch," Ratchet hissed back, causing a tiny, purple Elite-femme to turn around and stare. ". . . Even if it _is _unbearable annoying to sit this close . . . I meant _them_! This!"

Right.

_This._

'This' was the current debate of whether or not to answer the demands for more energon to a dark-sided village of construction-mechs, living in a shadow-valley on the other side of Cybertron.

After. . . _things_ had calmed down in Iacon, the capital, after the 'Autobot-Decepticon Peace-Declaration' had been signed; small requests, minor uprisings, and other tiny issues of little substance had constantly been bombarding the Parliament, the Prime and his politicians. Most had been easily solved.

However, for a while it had become more and more apparent that the issue with 'Flaiz of the Darker Shores', a young, infamous construction-mech from the shadow-valleys, was in reality not an issue, but a serious problem.

Flaiz was clever. Flaiz was angry. Flaiz was the leader of a starved people.

Rodimus had the same opinion about the situation as the former Prime had: feed the starved, no one gets left behind, no questions asked. But the Elites, mainly the elder members of the counsel, had a different view on things.

"Cronius," Rodimus tried again, optics flaring angrily and impatiently at an elderly, dark-green and silver Elite, whom was currently standing in front of his seat, arms crossed in pure, easily recognised insubordination. "Explain to me why you refuse to aid the workers?"

"What's not to understand, _Prime_?"

Optimus was surprised by the mocking tone to the elder's vocaliser. He didn't understand why, but this particular Elite, Cronius, respectable and strict-yet-fair Cronius, had been nothing but rude to Rodimus since their return from Earth. Optimus knew that it often took the elder a very long time to follow, even trust, 'bots he had just met, but he had been one of the most _supportive_ of the Elites when he had decided to give up the Matrix of Leadership, had decided to let Hot Rod inherit the sacred, Autobot legacy.

But when they had finally met, sat down for their first meeting, nothing but hatred had radiated from the old mech.

Kup cleared his vocaliser, a habit he had picked up during his brief stay on Earth, and Rodimus straightened himself up, continuing with his speech:

"The workers' cities, or more like villages, are situated by the darkest part of the valley. They're built into the iron-mountains, like human mines. There are many in numbers, but the energon is rare and precious to them. At this very moment Flaiz is causing an uprising in his land, gathering strong workers and turning them against us, against Iacon."

Cronius scoffed shortly, voice monotone and cold. "A slave gathering an army of slaves. . . That's rich."

"Please, don't call them 'slaves', they're construction-workers. And listen to me," Rodimus exclaimed softly. "- All they're asking for is more energon. We can spare some, for certain."

"But certainly you don't expect your people to give up their hard-won energon, just for the sake of some unimportant, Darker Shore-workers?"

"Cronius," Rodimus cycled anxiously, servos clenched in frustration. Kup was sitting close by, constantly sending the Prime calm, soothing looks, trying to assist him in dealing with the stubborn, elderly Elite. "I will not take my peoples energon. But this young Flaiz and his towns-'bots are in severe need of our help. I can't leave my fellow Cybertronians for death and decay."

"They were painfully neutral during the wars, refused to participate in any way, ignored the calling of the Primes when they were needed," the dark-green and silver Elite countered, voice smooth and cold as ice. "- They aren't _your people_ like the rest of us are, and yet you insist to aid them, give them the energon they never earned or deserved."

Ratchet's servos dug further into the arm-rests of the chair, his vents nearly steaming with his anger. Optimus sent him a warning look of 'keep quiet', but rested an easing 'hand' on the medic's trembling back.

"'Flaiz of the Darker Shores' has threatened many nearby Autobot- and Decepticon-cities, told them to send messages to Iacon. Their messages involve information such as of how many Hatchlings that are _dying_ from hunger _every_ joor. Flaiz is ready to engage in battle if his demands for more energon aren't met." Rodimus tried to maintain his radiance of status, knowledge and calm. "They're suffering and desperate. Desperate 'bots are known to be the most dangerous."

"The Prime holds no trust in his own soldiers' and counsellors' abilities?"

"I was merely suggesting-. . . I mean, you shouldn't underestimate him, Cronius."

"So we should quiver in our bolts for the sake of a processorless muscle-mech, a mere dark-sided _slave_? The Prime _suggests _that we, seasoned warriors and high-respected scientists, surrender our well-earned share of sheer _life-blood _to those pit-spawned brutes, so that they afterwards can rise to their full, evil potential and crush us?"

"Yes, I- _no_!"

"Yes? No?" Cronius' face was blank, though his optics burned viciously and coldly, scorching themselves into the younger's. He continued his tirade, addressed the rest of the audience: ". . . Rodimus Prime seems highly unsure of his own ability to make a decision. How disappointing."

Rodimus was speechless, face-plating heating up. Kup rose from his seat, fury radiating from his aged, battle-worn body. He pointed at the elder Elite, sneered disapprovingly:

"How _dare_ you talk to your Prime in such a manner! Whatever _you_ think-"

"My _Prime _is young and learning, Autobot Kup," Cronius interrupted, spoke solemnly, optics narrow and never leaving the red and orange 'bot trying to sink into his seat in the centre, become one with the chair. "His predecessors initiated and dissolved wars mercilessly for as long as my family has been sitting in this parliament. I find it very tempting _not _to let it happen again."

Optimus had seen and heard enough. As he rose from his seat, all murmured conversation in the room died, Kup's facial expression was one of relief and gratitude, and Ratchet muttered an angry '_finally!_'.

"Cronius," Optimus used his formal, calm voice. "May I be so impolite as to interrupt you for a brief klik?"

The old Elite straightened himself up, arms folded properly, posture peaceful and radiating of mindfulness. Sadly, his vividly burning, blue optics gave away his inner strength, impatience and will to kick, bite and scream – just for the sake of having the last word.

"Certainly, Optimus."

"Thank you," he cycled silently through his vents, tried to ease his own anger. "Members of your family have been occupying at least one seat in this room for every generation, no?"

"Yes." A nod.

"And your ancestral code of justice speaks of not to start any more wars?"

"It does. . . " Cronius seemed mildly startled by the conversation they were having. His logic spoke to him that they were establishing facts that were already common knowledge among the other mechs and femmes in the parliament.

"That is a relief to hear," Optimus said, his powerful build a strong contrast to the other's smaller, sleeker body. Not a real threat by the distance between them in the room; yet a threat. "For a moment you had me thinking that you wanted to start a brand new trial of battle and death, all on your own."

Cronius looked like he had been slapped in the face. Optics flared dangerously, vocaliser, once smooth and flowing, suddenly static-lazed and snappy:

"I was _never_ threatening Rodimus Prime or overstepping the boundaries my parliament-seat has given me. Never. It was a matter of mere differences of minds, Autobot to Autobot. I am no Decepticon, trying to push my leader off his thrown."

Optimus noticed Starscream's optics glisten in indignant fury across the room. His own anger built as well.

"You do not understand, Cronius. I wasn't speaking of an Autobot-Decepticon war, a war of existing 'factions'. I was speaking of the potential war between Iacon and this 'Flaiz of the Darker Shores'."

"Those _slaves _will never be a threat to us."

"And never should they be given a reason to be a threat to anyone, anywhere. They're starved and desperate. Nobody should be starved and desperate at this point in our long-awaited closure of the great war."

". . ." Cronius' face was blank again, withdrawn. Knowing he had lost for now.

"They have, like all other living, thinking and cycling beings, the right to make decisions for themselves. They decided long ago not to join the wars, not unlike other Cybertronians, but therefore they shouldn't be denied the, for them, rare energy-sources to live on once the peace is won. That was never a criterion for joining or not-joining the wars."

"We'll provide energon for everybody, then?" a small, shy Elite asked.

"Indeed we will. That was the main goal in mind, once; the true goal of the wars long time ago: a sated, healthy and _equal _Cybertron. If you all take a moment to scan your memory-data, I'm certain you'll find it incoded somewhere in your files. Justice-seeking is what we were and are."

Optimus took a moment to look at every mech and femme in the small space they were seated in. Some Elites' and Decepticons' optics were dimmed, obviously trying to find out if what Optimus said was true. Starscream, however, met his 'eyes', ruby optics glistening at him.

_Starscream definitely knew all along. It must have been torture __for him to work under Megatron. Then again, I already knew _that _all along. . ._

Optimus sighed audibly as none of the Elites spoke up, leaving it to him to make the quick decisions.

"At least 5 percent of the harvests can be provided for the starved workers, and it cannot happen soon enough. When can the first ration be sent off? Ratchet?"

"The energon is by no means contaminated or anything, according to Perceptor and Wheeljack. It has been approved as healthy and non-threatening. It's good to go."

"Excellent. Kup?"

"I can. . . I can prepare a transportation-unit right away. If they take flight within the next joor they'll have arrived by half an orn, approximately. . . "

There was silence after Optimus had nodded in acceptance. Kup glanced at the mute Prime. He hadn't spoken up at all since Cronius had held his speech. And usually he wasn't able to keep his vocaliser shut for more than a fraction of a nano-klik.

"Rodimus Prime, Sir?"

"Just. . . Just make it happen," came the silent order, the young mech didn't even look up from his pedals. He looked absolutely miserable. "Everybody's dismissed."

". . . Yes Sir."

* * *

"Optimus, a word?" Kup came to him outside the meeting-room as soon as he stepped out in the open, stretched his stiff joints and limbs carefully.

"Of course."

They walked to a slightly secluded corner of the hall, Kup constantly glancing over his shoulder, trying to make certain that the young Prime wasn't seeing him contact the former Prime, thank him for his heroic rescue at the meeting.

"Thank you for . . . Thank you."

"How is Rodimus taking this?"

"He's very quiet. I don't know what to say to him, besides that _that_ Elite is a moronic, old piece-of-prettily-coloured-tin."

Kup growled angrily.

"I wish I knew how to change the views of some 'bots, but it seems like there will always be some senseless, self-absorbed afts out there. But how did they get in _here_? In the fraggin' politics' counsel? It's ridiculous! Rodimus should have bitten him off, told him to stuff it."

Optimus followed Kup's optics as they stared out of the magnificent windows, Iacon's bright-shining lights and life glowing brilliantly under them.

"He was trying to be respectful. Just like how he has been told to be."

"Cronius doesn't deserve his kindness and respect."

". . . I know."

Kup continued, anger flared in his 'eyes'.

"Rodimus is the Prime. The _Prime_. He should have Cronius evicted from the Parliament, permanently. But, no, he's too stubborn to do so. And yet he's so devastated about the whole situation," Kup suddenly cycled with exhausted amusement. "He's without any doubt the most complicated piece of machinery I've ever encountered."

"You seem very fond of him," Optimus smiled, careful not to imply too much of his greater understanding of the elder Autobot's feelings for the younger mech.

"Oh, but I am. He holds astoundingly amounts of promise and potential. His eagerness and will to learn and be just and fair is inspiring."

Kup smiled at the former Prime.

"I am excited every morning when I wake from recharge, happy to be on-line to teach and be there for him, with him."

As on cue, Rodimus stepped out of the meeting-room, his aura broadcasting violent emotions of unease and fear out into the open. As his young, Autobot-blue optics fell on Kup the fear disappeared right away, some of his tenseness faded.

"Kup, can we leave?" a muttered request.

"Oh, yes, right away. . . You do not wish to speak with Optimus before we do so?" Kup sounded hopeful, anxious.

". . . Maybe another time. For now I wish to go train, maybe play some chess." Rodimus was still staring at his pedals, voice low and scratchy, like a scolded youngling, radiating with shame.

"Certainly, Rodimus," Kup shrugged sadly at the blue and red semi, optics an unhappy shade of grey-blue. "We'll see you later, Optimus."

"Take care, Rodimus, Kup."

Optimus watched as the two mechs left, probably heading for their currently shared quarters. Kup was touching the small Prime's arm, talking softly and comfortingly with him. Ratchet, who had been watching the exchange discreetly from other side of the hall, walked over as soon as Kup and Rodimus were out of sight.

"Good job in there. . . 'Though you took an awful long time to get your aft in gear."

"I'm no longer the Prime, Ratchet. I shouldn't necessarily be the only mech to have the right and 'guts' to tell Cronius and others to inject some coolant into their systems." he said, watching as Shockwave and Soundwave emerged from the meeting-room together, discussing rapidly. "Rodimus, Kup, all the rest of the Cybertronians in that room, should speak up when they feel mistreated, when they disagree with the others."

"Yeah, well, it's new to us. I mean, sitting in the same room as the Decepticons and all, talking instead of firing lasers at each others. We need a bit more time for adjustment. We can't all be like Jazz, kick our pedals up on the table, give an aft about who's present and who they're representing, blabber on about 'Freedom, 'Facing and Rock'n'roll'. . . I wish they'd come back from their so-called 'Honeymoon' soon."

Optimus smiled behind his face-mask.

"I miss having them at our meetings, as well. Even if it _is _going to be a relief not having them sitting close together, the looks they're sharing all heat and denial at once."

"Foolish, love-struck glitchs. . . 'Outta kick their afts as well, for taking so long."

"I have no objections."

"Good," the medic grinned menacingly, causing the semi to blink in surprise, maybe also a little in fear. "And, the _Pit_? A 'Honeymoon'? That's an Earth-tradition, why-"

"Jazz."

". . . Yeah, could've guessed that myself. Prowl was easily convinced, I fear?"

". . . Look on the bright side of it, Ratchet: once they return they'll be fully ready to face-"

"Heeh, 'face'!"

"-our troublesome situation," Optimus continued, ignoring the comment. "The more 'bots we are against Cronius and his strong-willed companions, the better."

"I can't sit and wait for 'safety in numbers' before getting rid of him. You know what, Optimus? I could easily infect some high-grade, sneak it into his quarters. I'll make it look like an accident, no data to analyze, no witnesses. The _perfect _crime."

"Ratchet, as sweet a notion as it is I doubt this is the way to go. Besides, you're programmed to keep 'bots on-line, not off-line."

"I could get Wheeljack to help me? Yes, that's _beyond_ excellent! He can blow him up. Gone."

"What am I going to do with you," the semi sighed, chuckling softly.

"You could give me and a team of medics the green lights to travel there, to the shadow-valleys. . . I hate that they're suffering, absolutely hate it. It goes against my beliefs and programming to recharge peacefully in my chamber at night, while. . . All of it _happens_."

Optimus could _hear _the gears churning painfully in the white and red mech's head.

"I would if I dared, Ratchet. But we hardly know anything about this Flaiz yet. And if I convince Rodimus to let you and a team of Autobot-gaurds visit his domain Primus knows how they'll react."

"'That afraid to lose me, huh?" A smirk.

"It would be bad for my reputation."

"Why you!" Ratchet huffed, optics bright with a promise of: 'if we weren't surrounded by high-ranked politicians and what-not, I would've kicked your aft for that!'

"I'll get you later," he murmured with good humour, though the threat left Optimus a little buzzing. Ratchet turned and left, mumbling about 'fraggers', 'Elites', 'Wheeljack' and 'Assassination-plans'.

Silence.

Only for a nano-klik, though.

"Well, well, well . . . Optimus saved the day, yet again."

Optimus blinked as Starscream materialized beside him, smirked at him. His voice wasn't mocking, however. It sounded like he had expected nothing else from the former Prime. He nearly sounded _fond_.

"Starscream." He acknowledged softly, not capable of stopping his optics from gliding swiftly up and down the Seeker's streamlined, lithe body.

"Starscream," the Decepticon confirmed, nodded, subtle grin in place. "A name you'll never forget."

"Ah, and an ego the size of-"

"-the size of Cybertron, yes, hah-hah, I know that one, too," Starscream didn't seem offended, no. Instead he hooked his arm around a startled Optimus', pulled him down the hall, every long strut made with regal pride and grace.

"Let's get outta here before the old fragger shows up. He bores me to death with his stupidity."

"Cronius?" Optimus managed to ask, as he followed obediently, awkwardly and self-consciously. After all, the hall was still half-full of mechs and femmes that knew them, watched their sudden act of, what? _Camaraderie_? And he also had to hunch over slightly to adjust himself to the smaller's height.

"Ugh, I hate his name and everything about him. Don't say it again," the jet huffed, and Optimus gasped inwardly as his wings brushed his back gently. "Primus, why couldn't he just have off-lined during the war like all the other old, ridiculous fools? I mean, if Megatron could go and die, then why couldn't _he _be assassinated in his recharge or something?"

". . ." Optimus had no comments to that, helpless to explain himself and his situation to the questioning looks he got from multiple 'bots watching him and Starscream march, arm in arm, down the hall.

"Luckily for all of us, you have a weakness for being the ever-so-noble hero. I'm relieved to know that you'll always be just about as delicate and subtle as a truck ramming into a gun-transformer when it comes to telling off stuck-up Elites and defending little brat-Primes."

"I am not enjoying you calling my Prime a 'brat'. I chose him for his strong sense of justice, his want for equality. He's an excellent mech, Starscream. Venturesome, balanced and bound to succeed despite his young age and shorter span of experience."

Starscream stifled a chuckle.

"Wow, that's some big words, Optimus. Can't I just stick with 'Rodimus' for now?"

* * *

Optimus found himself led to the main street of Iacon, the highly-illuminated buildings and constructions towering around them, him and Starscream. The Decepticon walked on and guided them towards a small, public area, the benches and the colourful, fluorescent spikes erected around them reminding the former Prime of what the humans called a 'Park'.

As the Seeker released his grasp on Optimus' arm and sat down at the bench, vents huffing in relaxation and calm, the semi was surprised with himself when he subconsciously went and bought some cubes of energon for both of them. There was something vaguely domestic about it, the whole idea of providing 'lunch' for another 'bot.

Optimus liked it, instantly.

Starscream smiled at him as he offered him some of the cubes, initiated a shared act of refuelling, a common social-act between friends and co-workers.

"Ever the gentle-bot." he praised, patting the spot next to him on the bench. "Sit."

Optimus obeyed, optics scanning the public space in appreciation. The activity, the laughter, the life; it was a welcomed sight after half-a-joor of arguments, cruel Elites and the news of dying hatchlings somewhere. . .

". . . Don't just stare at the landscape like an idiot. Eat."

The semi chuckled but placed his cubes in his lap.

"I'm just glad you dragged me out here, Starscream. If you hadn't I would probably just have returned to my quarters and spent my afternoon brooding. This is nice."

"Tsk," the jet huffed, draining his last drops of 'lunch'. "Primus knows you Autobots do nothing but sit and worry all the time. And you probably never thought that old 'Screamer' here liked to go and waste his precious free-time in a non-spectacular place like this."

"I find it very spectacular. . . But, no, you didn't exactly strike me as the kind of mech that liked to sit and watch other 'bots on their daily route through town."

"There are many things you don't know about me," The small Decepticon spoke softly, ruby-red optics gazing softly at a by-passing, young couple.

"I guess. . ." Optimus said carefully, uncertainly. It was true. He didn't know a lot about the other, except for his former status as the SIC of the Decepticons, his current, shared leader-status of the Decepticons. He knew that his city of origin was Vos, and, also, that he was a virgin.

Optimus' face heated up slightly at that last thought, remembered, _again_, how the Seeker had told him this, flirted with him, kissed him. . . But only because he was upset with Skyfire, right?

_Skyfire__. _

That had him remembering something that all the Autobots had been surprised to learn about the red Seeker. Starscream was . . :

"You're a skilled scientist. That much I have come to know, recently. How come you came to join the war if your interests lay elsewhere and not with fighting?"

"I didn't join the war because Megatron went and needed a 'dirt-samplerer', as he called us. I was recruited for the army back in my youth. I grew in ranks because I'm the best, damn flyer out there. And everybody knew that." Stated as a fact.

_Ah, that ego._

"Admittedly, no Autobot or Elite or _any_ other Cybertronian I've known, for that matter, has ever had a fair chance at competing with your skill for flight."

Starscream huffed again, but shone visibly in delight at the compliment. Optimus continued:

"But will you return to your science now? How did you learn about your talent for this particular subject in the first place?"

"What is it to _you_, Autobot?" the Seeker suddenly sneered, facial-plating unpretty with his hated but unfortunate characteristic distrust and suspicion, arms folded defensively. "Your deluded hero-mind refused to accept that my 'assembly-set' came with good looks, skill _and_ a processor?"

"I- . . . I'm sorry. I won't ask, then."

It didn't seem like the Decepticon wanted to trade that kind of conversation, even though he had brought Optimus out there, in the open, somewhere somewhat private and free of co-worker protocols. Rejected, the former Prime forced his attention to his un-consumed energon, tried to make the small cubes appear more appealing and interesting than a budding relationship of trust with the smaller Decepticon.

The silence from the other lasted a long time. Optimus didn't recognise the silence for what it really was until much later: regret.

". . . Primus, how'd that get you all upset?" the Seeker finally snapped uneasily, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ". . . _Geez_, Autobots are ridiculously highly emotionally-programmed. . ."

The semi blinked, mildly stunned by the Seeker's grim-looking, guilt-stricken facial-expression. He was looking at anything but Optimus, optics shifting nervously, vents circling hurriedly. He appeared to be stressed and shy.

_Oh. _

Perhaps, Optimus mused, Starscream was, in his own unique way, just as uncertain about communicating casually with _him_ as he felt with the younger Decepticon. But they both wanted to.

Whereas Optimus hesitated with his questions in his self-doubts, Starscream returned to the sarcastic, untrusting, _miserable_ mech he had been under Megatron's leadership.

". . . Mmm, well, I've always loved science, I suppose. It probably has something to with my upbringing, during the early years of the war," Starscream began suddenly, deciding to open up a little, trust the older mech. His dental-plating chewed softly on his bottom 'lip'. "To say that I didn't have a lot of friends back in Vos would be the understatement of the millennia. Let's just say that I spent a lot of time on my own."

Optimus detected a hint of sadness and shame in the Seeker's voice.

"I found different ways to entertain myself and I quickly discovered that I liked to explore unknown territory, be the first 'bot on the place, lay a claim for my discoveries and adventures. . . It was the sort of pride and joy I felt like I deserved, you know?"

Heat welled into Starscream's face after he had spoken. A proof of a modesty Optimus had never before encountered in the other. Science was clearly very sacred and precious to him.

"If you are. . . _afraid_, perhaps, that giving up on a full-time politic status in the Parliament will cause damage to our future goal-in-mind of equality on Cybertron, maybe you could still switch back and forth between the two?-"

"I know I can slaggin' multitask, Optimus," came the indignant huff, annoyed but also slightly amused by the larger mech's overly careful choice of words. "It's just. . . The '_situation_' between science and I is a little shaky at the moment. . ."

"Skyfire. Yes, I see."

"You know that we used to be-"

"You were science-partners, yes. He told me and the rest of our team in the last years of the war," Optimus admitted, adjusting himself a little in his sitting-position, turned so that he nearly faced the Seeker properly. "You went exploring together?"

"Yes," the ruby eyes dimmed softly in remembrances of their expeditions. "We visited foreign galaxies, different planets. It was an amazing way of life, those years we had together, as friends. Until Earth. . ." soft, pained static leaked into his voice.

"Starscream. . ."

"-When with Skyfire on Earth; when I lost him. . . I'd rather not talk about that."

"It's alright, I understand. That incident left wounds in both of you," he cycled gently, forced himself to ask the next question. The question that had bothered him since last night: "However, have you confronted him yet?"

_About the feelings he has for you? The feelings you don't return?_

Luckily, this time the Seeker didn't snap at him or bite him off. His wings merely dropped sadly.

"No."

"Soon, though?"

"Yes. Soon."

Optimus was satisfied with that. He rose, collected their empty cubes, went to dispose them of them. When he turned around again, he hesitated, but warily approached the always dreaded, 'warning'-causing 'smirky face'.

Starscream patted the empty spot on the bench, next to his shiny, cherry-coloured hips and graceful, limber legs, currently crossed in a something that portrayed relaxation and, well, slight seduction.

"Enough about me, though. For now, at least," the jet smirked, optics burning in devious curiosity. "Have the almighty, former Prime found someone to 'settle down with' yet?"

"I. . ." Optimus was startled for the second time that day. No one, but this Seeker, could leave him that speechless. The semi knew many 'bots that were blunt, lacking in tact, even downright rude at times. But Starscream had a different quality to him. . .

"We~ell?"

"No, Starscream. I . . . _haven't _exactly found someone yet. I haven't got the time or a plan to follow at this moment."

The Seeker patted his shoulder lightly, his next words leaving Optimus speechless for the third time that day:

"No worries, though. We'll find you someone soon. I remember how good you were with those servos; my wings were absolutely _tingling_ for the rest of the night. It would be a crime to let such a talent go to waste."

Starscream cackled in mirth at the expression of shock on the other's face.

"Oh, you're priceless, you!" he scooted closer, their 'thighs' touching faintly. "I didn't mean to tease you so. Heeh, but I couldn't resist. Would you like me to subtly change the subject?"

". . . By all means."

"Alright. You weren't always the Prime, no? Where and how did _you _grow up?"

Optimus didn't have time for answering that before two familiar-looking mechs came wandering down the path leading towards them.

"Sir."

"Good afternoon, Optimus."

Optimus nodded in acknowledge, trying to ignore how Starscream somehow managed to scoot even _closer_.

"Prowl, Perceptor. How are you?"

Perceptor hesitated while Prowl gave a very faint growl of annoyance; which meant that he was _very_ stressed and/or annoyed.

The former Prime then noticed how pained and grim-looking they both looked. Perceptor, usually calm and cheerful, always seeming content about his work and his life, was fidgeting with a faint, old scar on his arm-plating, his optics a stressed, grey-ish colour.

Prowl was standing next to him, all tall and impressive-looking like always, his bright-red chevron shining and his door-wings held high. But the mechs that knew him could tell that he was just _slightly_ more rigid than normal.

"We're good," his former SIC lied easily, noticing the Decepticon on the bench beside his former superior, nodded in greeting. "Starscream, I trust you are well?"

"Just peachy," the Seeker smiled, his legs almost heating and scraping off a layer of metal from Optimus' thigh in his proximity. The semi didn't know how to respond to the surprised look he was given by Perceptor.

"We, errr, heard about the meeting," the red, Autobot scientist started, digits scratching at his arm. "I just thought I would come and see how you were," he added, ignoring the glares he got from both Prowl and Starscream.

"I see. . ?"

"Kup contacted me a klik ago, asked for my opinion as a strategist," Prowl started, door-wings fluttering with a passing emotion. "He wanted to know how he can persuade Prime into leaving his room."

"I know that Rodimus wanted to be alone after what happened earlier. . . But why would Kup try and drag him out in public already?"

"It's the gala," Prowl explained, like it made all the sense in the universe.

"Pardon?"

"Cronius is throwing a fit at this moment, making a lot of trouble, Optimus, since, _apparently_, 'the Prime is too much of a wimp to show up at Amazar's art-gala tonight'."

"But Cronius spent almost the entire meeting insulting and accusing Rodimus of being unfit for his position," Optimus thought out loud. "Why would he still want him to attend his youngling's gala the very night after the incident?"

"I know that this isn't logical, but it is how it is," Prowl stated, arms crossed.

"Amazar is at the age where he is fit and mature enough for starting a search for a bond-mate, isn't he?" Perceptor added, gesturing lightly to Starscream, politely inviting him to join their conversation.

"How should I know," the Seeker demanded sharply, optics narrow. "I never had any taste for femme-like mechs; all shiny upgrades, no strength to them."

Optimus nearly choked on his own glossa when he felt Starscream's servo gliding down his spine, resting on his back, warm and intimate. Fortunately it went unseen by the two others, thanks to the lack of space between the former Autobot Prime and the Decepticon.

"Right now Kup is trying to mend things between his Rodimus and Cronius, thinks it to be a good strategy to make an appearance at the art-gala tonight, even if only brief. I thought so, too."

"And. . . You needed my assistance with something?" Optimus had a hard time keeping an even tone while the Decepticon's warm hand sent small tickles of electricity up his body, into his processor.

"No. that was all. I merely thought it proper to have you updated on the situation."

Perceptor turned his face to the black and white mech, disapproval and shockingly feeble, old-dated bitterness marking his next words:

"You shouldn't bother Optimus with every problem that occurs, caused by stuck-up Elites and their twisted processors, Prowl. He deserves an ordinary life; a life in which his refuel-time isn't interrupted by unessential opinion-issues between other, adult mechs, who should figure things out on their own. It saddens me to watch you fall to these lows-"

"Forgive me, Perceptor," the police-car interrupted, voice speaking curt, dismissing words. "-but I don't recall ever asking you to accompany me. You insisted that you should come with me, said that you would be helpful. Instead you went and made a nuisance of yourself."

The normally calm, red scientist stiffened, face heated from embarrassment and anger. With a short, farewell nod at the semi and the jet he turned and walked off in a huff, an air of depression soon emitting from his retreating form.

Prowl sighed as the small, red Autobot walked away. For a fraction of a nano-klik he looked tired and miserable.

"I apologize for having you witnessing that, Optimus, Starscream. Perceptor and I have been having communication-difficulties as of lately," he shook his head softly, regained his posture of sharp, clever potency. "I should probably get back to Jazz, make sure he hasn't re-decorated our quarters. . . By the way, we hope to see you tonight at the gala, Optimus. Sunstreaker is also exhibiting a few works of his and you know how happy it will make him if you showed up."

"I most definitely will, Prowl. Tell Jazz I said 'hi'."

"Not 'rock'n'roll' or 'stay chillin''?" It sounded so odd coming from his former SIC's vocaliser. Optimus chuckled.

"No. Just a 'hi' coming directly from the spark."

"Yes Sir." A soft smile. Prowl left as well.

A klik passed in silence.

". . . It's quite obvious that they had a 'one-night-stand', of course." Starscream remarked, leaning back on the bench, optics dimmed as he quickly analyzed his voice-recordings of the encounter.

"Prowl and Jazz are bonded, so obvio-"

"Not Prowl and Jazz, you glitch," the Seeker snapped. "Your braniac police-car and that other 'bot we just met."

Optimus was once again startled by the observance and perceptiveness of the Decepticon. Not many Autobots knew of that particular accident: Prowl and Perceptor's short, one-nighted affair. And even _fewer_ knew of the reason and cause of said affair. . .

"It happened a long time ago, Starscream, back when Prowl and Jazz were only co-workers, my TIC and SIC, back during the war on Earth. I'm impressed at how quickly you noticed the connection between Prowl and Perceptor's behaviour and the only logical explanation existing, but I would appreciate it if you never spoke openly about it with anyone. It's not . . . something that they are proud of."

"Oh, don't worry," the jet murmured, mind racing. "I was never one for sharing petty gossip. . . But why would Prowl go and 'face that geeky scientist? Wasn't he madly, furiously in love with that insanely cheerful Saboteur of yours? That's what you told me the other night."

_Ah, yes, the other night. A warm, beautiful Seeker, kissing him__ in the reflections of the illuminated city._

"Optimus!"

"Mmm, yes, Prowl was indeed very much in love with Jazz back then. . . And vice versa."

Starscream's optics narrowed but apparently he understood that he wouldn't get Optimus to tell him more at the moment. He clicked his glossa, patted the semi's shoulder and stood.

". . . Well, this has been fun, too. Good servos and good charisma; you'll be a fine catch for whomever you decide to woo." the jet smirked, winked. "My former trine-mates and I plan on making an appearance of our own tonight at the gala, just in case that makes you change your mind about going."

"Your company has been appreciated," the semi said softly, his engines rumbled in delight. "I would be pleased to have a conversational klik or two with you tonight, trine-mates present or not."

"You do realize that we'll mainly try and terrorize your precious, damnable Lamborghini-mechs?" a daring, questionable quirk of an optic-brow.

"All the more a reason for me to go, if so only to try and apprehend you."

Starscream grinned wickedly, waved and sashayed off. That was becoming a habit of his, it seemed.

Optimus was soon left with his thoughts of the day. Memories of Rodimus' shameful look of defeat, Kup's protective anger, Cronius' cold indifference. . . Then Ratchet's request for being allowed to go and help the shadow-valley-'bots, the uprising army; and the surprise and delight of Starscream's playful, flirtatious company during refuel-time. . . His promise of being at the gala tonight, as well.

But also a faint memory transferred itself from deep within his memory-files into his mind, replayed itself insistently. Optimus off-lined his optics in shame and frustration with the image in his processor, an image one of the former conversations had brought him to mind:

A memory of a visored mech, shaking and panting sorrowfully under his servos and superior weight. A smaller 'bot desperate for ease from his frustrations with himself and the mech he had secretly loved for way too long. An Autobot who finally gasped and sobbed a different name than his during overload:

"_Prowl. . ."_

:

:

~ ~ ~ TBC ~ ~ ~

**Yay plot! Or zeh beginning of zeh plot!**** . . . Still: Yay! Yay! . . . Yay, right?**

**. . . *****sigh* not much more to say this time :S besides: this chapter was soooo freakin' annoying to write! RAWR! I had to drop like a billion plot-hints here and there, subtly explain a dozen other situations and relations between storyline-OCs, and then suddenly my darling Screamer and OP refused to cooperate when writing dialogue (yada-yada-yada!)**

**:'D It's DONE now! Finally! I hope you don't find it too disappointing *pulls hair***

**Next chapter will have JAZZ, more high-grade, various couples, groping-sessions, explanations, plot-ish stuff of WIN, and other tools of doom! . . . Reviewz? Pwease?**


	3. New Implications

"**. . . Overload, overload, overload, coming up to the overload, overload, overload. . ." ~ 'Stylo' by Gorillaz . . . Think about **_**that**_**, Transformers-fans! ;3**

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Neophytes

**Pairings: **Optimus/Starscream, Kup/Rodimus Prime, Prowl/Jazz, Prowl/Perceptor-ish, Sunstreaker/Wheeljack, hinted Sideswipe/Bluestreak, hinted Hound/Mirage

**Warnings for chapter: **Mech-on-mech kissing-lurve, Attempt at plot, GOSSIP, OCs, High-grade, Unbetaed

**A/N: **You guys are so sweet in your reviews! It's truly inspiring me to write – All I've been able to reach should have received a message ;) The rest of you: Wireless Fidelity, Eliza, Cassandra D, Moi and Actionmoviefan2 - You rock and I adore you!

Forgive me my late update, but another story of mine deserved a little attention. That and real life takes top-priority since it feeds me, clothes me, and pays me so I can buy SHOES ;3

I've tried to turn down the plot-hint-overload in this chapter. . . Dayum, but it felt good to slow down the pace! Lol, and only _one_ location/setting in this? It seems my writing-style changes from chapter to chapter. Oh, well, I'm still a fanfic-neophyte. I can't help it. And you guys must be able to tell how much I struggled with this chapter, and for how long, but . . . Eh, ENJOY!

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**Feedbac****k is cherished and scientifically proved to be liquid encouragement (?) xD**

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**Klik = approximately a minute**

**Joor = approximately 1,5 hours**

**Orn = approximately 6-7 days (a week)**

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**Chapter III . . . New Implications**

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It should probably have worried him, Optimus mused whilst sipping at a cube of high-grade. Yes, it _should_ have worried and bothered him that as soon as he entered the Grand Hall of Cybertronian Arts his optics started scanning the crowd for winged Decepticons. And it should most definitely have bothered him that as soon as he spotted the infamous Seeker trine his engines hummed with wonder and delight.

Worst of all: Optimus had to actually steel himself from walking over there immediately, had to settle for admiring the Seekers' wax-jobs and razor-sharp wings from a distance instead. He studied their animated chatting and mischievous teasing, their voice drowning faintly in the buzzing conversations of the art-appreciating Elite coteries.

_Primus. . . We're all gathered here tonight, celebrating together, just like in Kup's stories of a distant time, before the Great Wars. This is right. This is good._

Skywarp was slipping some unknown substance into Thundercracker's energon, the older jet observing a couple of giggling Elite femmes with a bored expression. The trine leader himself was smirking wickedly at his partner-in-crime, discreetly distracting the blue 'Con whenever he was about to notice that his 'drink' tasted funny.

_. . . Though I doubt that Primus had in mind that it was necessary to spike on__e another's energon._

"Alright," a voice sighed in good humour next to Optimus and the semi stared down at his old friend, the inventor and scientist Wheeljack. "Let me just take these-" he put his fingers to the former Prime's grill, pulled out some long-dead, organic bugs, "- and you're good to go!"

". . ." At first Optimus was too embarrassed to do anything but stare at the proof of his lacking self-hygiene, but the fond smile in 'Jack's eyes had him relaxing. "Please, give those back. I was saving them for a host-present for Cronius."

Wheeljack's laughter was bright and easily heard over the deafening chatting of the party.

"By the All Spark, what a beautiful sentiment! A gift he might have something in common with."

"My thought exactly. . ." he hesitated. "I should probably have 'dressed up' a tad more for this?"

"Ah, relax," the smaller 'bot grinned. It was all in his 'eyes', his blast mask hid his mouth-plating efficiently. "All too noticeable grime's gone now, the rest merely gives you a raw, brutish, and seasoned look. Seekers love that!"

"Excuse me?"

The winged scientist nodded in direction of Starscream and his trine, the former currently studying Thundercracker scolding the younger black jet with amusement. Skywarp stuck his glossa out at the other, cackled joyously as he was chased down the hall.

"They're acting like adolescent younglings with a just-hardened armour, but I'll give you that they're good-looking."

"Are we talking about Starscream?"

"Of course we are!"

_But of course. . . _

Why?

"Why?"

"Optimus, I'm sorry to tell you this but no accidental explosion of mine did any damage to my optics. My sight is still as strong as Mirage's denial of his feelings for Hound. . . And I saw you looking at _him_." He nudged the former Prime's arm playfully.

"Heeh, the rumour has it that the two of you walked _arm _in_ arm_ from the Council-meeting earlier?"

". . . . . ."

Wheeljack's optics flared giddily, mirth bubbling in his voice.

"You _did_? Oh, wow, I didn't know to think of it when I overheard those small Elites gossiping, but I realized I just had to ask-"

"'Jack, please, listen to this," he interrupted gently, a little spooked by the obvious excitement in the other's reaction. "Yes, I do recall leaving with Starscream. In . . . _that_ particular fashion, even. But we are only friends, new friends at that, and I can guarantee you that _that _was all that happened."

"That's not true. They refuelled together as well," a soft voice added from behind them.

"Perceptor-" Optimus exclaimed softly as the small, red mech appeared into his field of vision.

Were they all out to get him tonight?

". . . They did," Perceptor confirmed at the questioning stare of disbelief from his fellow scientist, quietly sipping from his cube of purple high-grade. Optimus nearly groaned out loud.

"Some guarantee. . ." Wheeljack chuckled and gave Optimus a teasing, sideways glance. However, the smaller seemed to sense his former Prime's unease, mistook it for a different insecurity, and hurried to reassure:

"Optimus, really, it's okay by me," the white and racing-striped inventor smiled, servo resting on the semi's shoulder in a friendly manner. "Technically speaking, and us scientist know how to do _that _all too well, you're both high-ranking politicians representing two different factions; and a cross-faction relationship might be good for the future of Cybertron . . . Especially when it has blossomed from true love."

"I'm not sure Optimus appreciates you comparing his love-life to a political plot," Perceptor scolded gently, until a sudden, uncharacteristic tone of bitterness slipped into his vocalisor: "You're beginning to sound like _Prowl_."

Ignoring that last comment uneasily, Wheeljack instead showed an expression of surprise and guilt.

"Forgive me, Optimus, I didn't mean it like that! My intentions were to show you that a Decepticon-Autobot romance isn't an impossibility. I'm sorry that I offended your love."

"It's alright, 'Jack."

". . . So you are in love?"

"I- _No_!"

There was a short, uncomfortable silence in which Wheeljack stared confused from one to the other, Optimus shifted in vague unease, and Perceptor brooded with his thoughts of the former SIC.

". . . Maybe I should go and talk to the host for a brief klik," the semi said, breaking the silence and tension.

"Yeah, probably. . . You want your bugs back?"

Optimus stared at the offering hand, at the small glistening, winged organics, and he had to crack a soft smile behind his face-mask.

"Thank you, but no. Let's see how the evening goes at first, and if we deem it necessary we can always spike Cronius' 'drink' later."

"With the bugs?" a hopeful tone.

"Oh, yes." He felt oddly inspired by the Seeker's antics, wanted to act a little unlike his age and rank.

_I'm p__robably experiencing some sort of mid-life crisis, as Sparkplug called it. . . _

He graced his friends with a silly wink of an optic before turning and making his way through the crowd. The Hall was by no means narrow, but the randomly places exhibits and the overwhelming crowd of 'bots in flashy colours, waxed and shiny-looking, made the journey difficult. He nodded at a few familiar faces, made very brief, obligatory conversation with some of his fellow politicians, and finally he spotted the Elite he had been searching for.

Cronius was standing proudly, regally by a fragile-looking Elite femme half his size, his green chest-plating glittering brilliantly in the flashing lights. He listened uninterestedly to another important-seeming mech's attempt at small-talk, his boredom making him scan the 'bots surrounding them for a better suited pass-time activity. His optics found Optimus. Their glittered dangerously.

"Optimus," the elderly green and silver mech spoke, gesturing him closer. "I am honoured to have you attending Amazar's gala. I can't express what this gesture means to him."

The former Prime wondered if it was normal for the Elite to express his adolescent sparkling's feelings and needs, wondered if Amazar ever got a word to say.

"I am deeply impressed by the works of Amazar," Optimus said, optics admiring an impossibly large canvas covered in neon-coloured patterns of Cybertronian paint. "He's very expressive with his arts, his pieces are extremely emotional."

"Yes," the Elite's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. It was no pleasant smile. "When Nonna and I sparked him I promised myself from the beginning that I would make him something great, something unique."

'_Something'? __Hopefully you mean 'someone'?_

"As I introduced him to the arts I was satisfied and proud to see him succeed as fast as he did, light-years beyond the rest of his class, even his teachers. He's an honourable young mech. Tonight we celebrate his outstanding collection of traditional art. Please, have some high-grade."

Optimus accepted the vividly blue substance, speculated on how much time he would have to pass in the other's presence before it would be proper and not impolite to move on. He highly disliked the elder mech.

"I noticed your former Second in Command a while before you arrived. Is he repaired enough to be back in duty?"

Right.

So in order to let Prowl and Jazz celebrate their new bond with a 'Honeymoon' the Autobots actually had to 'fake' some medical reports, make it seem like the two of them had been badly damaged internally during the last battles against the Decepticons. Mirage had been the one to suggest it, his Elite and Alpha origins spoke to him of a _very_ possible opinion of dislike if it was discovered that the former Prime's right and left hand were taking leave for no important reason but . . . intimacy.

. . . _Right_.

Of course Cronius would ask him about their condition, if so only out of proper Elite etiquette.

"My former CMO is very positive of a quick recovery. Both Prowl and Jazz will return to duty within half an orn."

"I'm delighted to hear that; our Parliament _desperately_ needs competent processors."

Optimus nearly growled something unwise.

"- But I was dumbfounded when I learned that they had decided to bond right after your return to Cybertron, despite their injuries. That must have taken quite a toll on their already damaged sparks."

"It did. But they're fine now," the semi desperately wished to change the subject, anxious about the clever mech realizing the truth about the situation. He didn't need his 'men' to get in anymore trouble. It was enough that Rodimus suffered from his intense loathing for no reason why.

"Have you seen Rodimus tonight?"

_Primus, make it _stop. . .

Optimus shook his head, forcing his optics to meet the stare of the elder's. The Elite sneered and downed his cube of energon.

"I hate to say this, Optimus, but to me it seems like the Prime doesn't contain the same amounts of courage nor promises of greatness as you do," he shook his head in a sad manner, in mock-disappointment. "Perhaps he _is _too young-"

"Rodimus Prime has arrived." A screechy voice interrupted, a familiar-looking figure materializing behind the former Prime.

Optimus was ready to kiss the Starscream for interrupting Cronius before he said anymore, which if he did would most likely result in a fist connected to his noble, hateful face.

Not that that would do any good about any rumours. . . Neither the kiss nor a fist-fight.

Cronius glared at the red 'Con with vague distaste, thin, aged lips pursed in an attempt at a neutral facial expression. The Seeker had put on a mask of great importance and indifference, his 'eyes' shifting lazily between the two large mechs.

"And he wishes to see Optimus. This very instant."

"If that is what the Prime wishes," the green Elite drawled, bored expression back in place. "Tell him that I would be. . . _honoured _to speak with him personally later on."

"Certainly," Starscream nodded, taking the former Prime by his elbow, guided him away into the crowd. The semi was mildly startled by the instant calming effect it had on him: to be touched, even if just lightly, and taken away from his source of distress. When he was the Prime he had always had to face off his problems, confront them to the bitter end. Taking a break from them, escaping, hadn't been an option.

And even if something, deeply encoded in his processor, told him that walking away from Cronius right there was the coward's way out. . . his knees still nearly _shook_ in relief.

However, he felt self-conscious about walking around in public like that with Starscream, _again_, their armours touching faintly. Apparently rumours flared to life very quickly and easily in the inner circles of the Elites and Alphas. No need to add more fuel to them now. . .

As he gently pulled away Starscream looked over his shoulder, met his optics with a curious look. A look that quickly morphed into something more understanding and _knowing_.

"I take it your 'men' has enlightened you with the rumours?" the Seeker's voice wasn't necessarily disapproving or disappointed, but not excited either. Optimus cleared his vocalisor.

"Rodimus came and wanted to see me?"

"Yes and no," the jet smiled wickedly. "'Yes', he did arrive, but 'no', he didn't ask to see you. The Pit, I didn't exactly _talk_ to the poor, frightened-looking youngling. He was literally clinging to that old veteran Autobot of yours."

"Then why. . . ?"

"Optimus, look, let's just say you had begun clenching your fists in a somewhat threatening manner, your aura broadcasted promises of mass-destruction and PG-17 rated violence, sooo I figured you might want a change of scenery?"

The truck-transformer was speechless by the sheer amount of understanding in the younger mech in front of him. Too stunned to express his gratitude he grabbed for an orange cube, offered it to the amused 'Con.

". . . Unless you've already had your share?"

"Nah, 'Warp and TC supplied me with plenty, but Primus knows what they poured into it; I kinda faked drinking them. I've had nothing yet," Starscream smiled and sniffed at the liquid content. "Yum, radioactive goo. . ."

"Where are they?"

"TC and 'Warp? Slag me if I know, probably strangling each other at some romantic setting, the balcony?" he sipped at the high-grade and shivered. "Urr, of course you had to get me a cube of the strongest stuff."

"Sorry, let me get you-"

"Ack, will you stop? You're fussing like a carrying femme," the Seeker grasped a new cube for Optimus. "What I meant was that I don't fancy being the only 'bot to get drunk tonight. If you're plotting to get me down, well then I'm taking you down with me!"

"Are we making this into a competition? I doubt it'll do our reputations any good to get over-energized at a time or place like this."

"Our reputations are already suffering, right?" the jet grinned. "But perhaps you're right. Another time, though! I swear to Primus that I'll get to experience you in such a state at some point before I off-line!"

"Over-energized? Why would you want to see me like that?"

"Heeh, black-mail material of course," Starscream snickered and pushed playfully at the frightened-looking semi's arm. "Because you'd make one cute drunk, I imagine."

Optimus winched and tried to ignore the stares he felt from the crowd around them. "If you have to know. . . When over-energized I mostly tend to talk, 'Pit-deep talking' if you ask Sideswipe."

"Aww, that immature show-off got to see you like that?"

"Apparently. . . And he'll never let me live it down," he downed the rest of his cube, smiled softly as he felt the beginning of a pleasant hum in his engine. He'd always liked high-grade. . . If consumed responsibly, of course.

Starscream smirked, his pretty, dark face tilted in curiosity.

"Tell me about Orion Pax?"

"Hmm?"

"You know," the Seeker lowered his voice, leaned in closer. "Orion Pax. . . I 'accidently' looked into a file of yours, fell over that name. Will you tell me?"

"What do you want to know," the former Prime asked, vaguely remembering the young Decepticon asking about his past earlier that very same day, but they had been interrupted. "There was nothing special about him. He was a dock-worker, dated a pretty femme, lived an easy life. . . What?"

Starscream had been watching him intently, ruby optics narrow in thought.

"Nothing, really," he spoke softly, sipping down the rest of his orange 'drink'. "It's just funny how you make it seem like Orion Pax was an all different mech than you. It's almost like he died or something."

"I suppose he kind of did," Optimus shrugged, observed a sculpture of an anguished-seeming mech, immortalized into steel and rock so that his dying-pain would persist for all to see and never fade. "Becoming the Prime killed Orion Pax, I fear."

"Why is that, Optimus?

"It's difficult to explain, Star. . ."

"'_Star_'?"

"Starscream," he corrected himself instantly. "'Starscream', that's what I meant to say. . . But to answer your question I believe Orion is gone because of the Matrix. Once you've held it a part of it stays with you to the end. Or so it seems. . ."

"Then you still consider yourself 'Prime'? I thought you wanted to settle down, be normal?"

"I do, more than anything," Optimus nearly exclaimed, frustrated with the whole situation. "It's just. . . proven to be more difficult than I thought."

The Seeker nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

"You wanna hear _my_ theory?"

Optimus did. However, he never even got to nod before another familiar-looking mech caught his optics, stepped out of the crowd, and walked their way. Starscream noticed, too, and his wings immediately flinched in disapproval.

"Primus, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Hey there yerself, Starshine!"

"Ugh. . ."

"Be good," Optimus rumbled, engines humming in good humour.

Jazz waltzed over, trademark grin in place, visor flashing vibrantly, displaying evidence of his good mood and perhaps slightly mischievous intentions. As the former TIC approached the pair, his hands immediately darting out to trace the tip of the Seeker's wing, pinched lightly.

"My, Starshine, yer're enviously good-lookin' tonight. Will ya throw a mech some rope an' tell'im what brand of wax yer're usin'?"

"Why, Jazz, normally I prefer to shower in liquid evil whilst a Pit-slave rubs powderized diamonds and gems onto my wings. But tonight I decided to spiff things up by massaging a blend of toxic oils and dead baby-bunnies into my armor as well."

"Aww, yer're too adorable!" the saboteur smiled widely, intertwined their fingers in a flirtatious manner. Optimus knew that his former TIC had always been outgoing and invading of others' personal space. But his flirting and complimenting ways were all part of the way he was and had always been, his way to boost others' egos and lift the mood when tense; and it _certainly_ didn't mean that he had ever slept around. In honesty Jazz had proven to be something of an old-fashioned 'bot; he was highly against one-night stands, had always avoided them like a cyber-plague. For eons the only 'bot he had interfaced with was Prowl.

Well, except for that brief slip between commander and subordinate all those years ago. . .

Starscream pulled his hands from Jazz', scowled at him.

"Shouldn't you be off chasing your bonded one?"

"Nah, Prowler's a big 'bot, I'm sure he can find his way 'round. I'd much rather hang out with yer guys!"

"Well, who knows, maybe somebody else out there is plotting to steal your 'Prowler' and have some fun with him. A mech can never know. . ."

Optimus' circuits nearly froze with horror, realizing that the Seeker was hinting at the 'Prowl-Perceptor-incident'. If Jazz caught onto it he didn't show.

"Aww, 'tis sweet of ya to care like that," the visored mech grinned, reaching a servo out to touch the 'Con's wing again, but Starscream quickly backed out of reach. "Heeh, but trust a mech here when he says that Prowler ain't got no energy for more 'fun' t'night, I made sure o' that!"

"Ugh," Optimus was had to agree with the jet on that one. "I didn't need to hear that."

"Jazz, please," the semi spoke softly, unable to help the hint amusement that slipped into his tone. "If your intentions were to terrorize us you've succeeded. Was there anything more?"

"I'm sorry, Optimus, I realize tha' the two o' yer looked like yer were hittin' it off," he grinned, smiling mildly. "But Sunny's anxious to show'is works before he gets too drunk. Perhaps 'now' is a good time?"

"You're probably right, Jazz . . . Starscream?"

"Whatever, just go," Starscream huffed quietly, "But if you ask me it doesn't make a difference: drunk or sober, they're just as hopeless. . ."

"That's the spirit! Come'n, let's go check out Sunny's doodles an' crafts!"

"Certainly," Optimus smiled, turned his attention solely on the silent jet. "I take it you're not coming?"

"Forgive me, Optimus, but I suspect that _my_ personal opinion won't be as desired as you so clearly hope. . . That and I most likely would struggle with finding pleasant words to honour them with." All that was spoken completely deadpan.

"I'll find you later then," the semi promised, not noticing his former TIC's visor flashing in surprise behind him.

"Sure," the jet smirked at Optimus, then scowled at Jazz again before walking off into the crowd. Optimus let Jazz lead him away from his newly found safety zone, into the masses of Elites towards a different-looking exhibition. Optimus quickly recognized some of the works as Sunstreaker's projects from their time on Earth.

"Primus, he managed to make quite few. . ."

"Heeh, every 'bot needs a hobby, right? Craftin', dancin'. . .Gossipin'. . ."

"Jazz," the former Prime sighed. "I _know _what the rumours say, but will you do me a favour and _not _believe them? As a matter of fact would you be a good friend and not even mention them for the time being?"

"Ah, sure, sorry," the smaller, dark mech hurried to say, looking a little abashed. "I just wanted to, ya know-, uhm, sorry!"

"It's alright," Optimus said softly, optics scanning the now very familiar-seeming spectators of Sunstreaker's works. He noticed an over-energized Sideswipe eagerly chatting up an oblivious Bluestreak, who fell into giggle-fits every time the red Lamborghini-twin ran a clumsy, admiring hand down his door-wing.

Prowl was watching that particular scene nearby as intently as a turbo-fox, seemingly unaware of the insistent, desperate stare of Perceptor; the latter was standing by a happily chatting Wheeljack, clutching a cube of half-consumed high-grade to his chest.

"Hey guys," Jazz cheered, smiled and waved at the former Autobot Earth Team, his happy smile brightened even more as Prowl caught his optics. Sideswipe mock-cooed and laughed brilliantly as Jazz hurried towards his bond-mate, embraced him shortly, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Ya behaved?"

"Don't I always?"

"Hmm, I dunno," the visored 'bot snickered, ran an enticing digit up and down the proud, crimson chevron of his mate. "If one takes last night as an example-"

"Jazz!" Optimus protested before he could stop himself, a roar of laughter erupting around them. Everybody smiled but Perceptor, who was currently staring at a spot on the floor, face painfully blank.

Prowl hadn't laughed, either, and he watched the small, red Autobot silently, his door-wings dropping sadly.

"Hey Percy!" Jazz grinned, but Optimus could detect the light strain in his voice, in his smile.

Perceptor proceeded with ignoring him, turned around on his pedals, stalked away. The former Prime heard the low, keening drone of the small scientist's engine as he vanished from sight. He sighed inwardly, his good mood momentarily ruined.

Jazz seemed just as devastated.

"He won't even look a' me," he murmured into the crook of the police-car's neck, servos clutching at his taller mate's arm-plating. "Wha'did I do, I don' understand."

"You're. . . not to blame for this, Jazz," Prowl assured, logic and emotion combined into his words. "It'll work out. Give it time."

Wheeljack looked ready to follow after his friend, search the smaller out, but as he turned around to do so he practically stumbled right into the arms of the artist himself.

"Whoa, whoa, 'Jack, watch the paint-job," Sunstreaker, the strikingly good-looking, golden warrior smirked, putting his 'hands' on the small inventor's shoulders. "Eh, you're leaving? Aren't you gonna see my newest pieces?"

"I-, but, sure, I was going to see them, but Percy just-"

"Ah, come on, just a brief peek?" the yellow Lamborghini-twin pleaded, already pulling Wheeljack back in direction of his art-works. "I got something awesome to show you, but since it's the best I'm saving it for last. Okay?"

"Okay. . ." Wheeljack relented softly, a hint of humour glistening in his blue optics.

Optimus smiled behind his face-mask, amused and delighted. Before and during their stay on Earth Sunstreaker had been infamous for only chasing and bedding mechs and femmes that pleased his aesthetical appreciation of everything beautiful. However, he had never discovered love that way, always ended up frustrated with himself and his lack of success with finding a potential bond-mate. Serious relationships had never worked out for him.

Now it seemed like the vain warrior had seen the light. His feelings for his long-time friend Wheeljack had evolved, and he had let it happen despite the inventor's unusual looks. It wasn't that Wheeljack was unattractive, no, not at all; in fact his colour-scheme was rather eye-catching, and his easy-going, cheerful personality never failed to make even the shyest of 'bots open up.

The more Optimus thought about his two friends evolving their friendship into something more, perhaps even in the near future if Sunstreaker kept up his insistent courtship, the more fitting it seemed.

"Oh, wow, you guys," the yellow twin grinned at his many friends, "It's cool to see so many of you coming to check my little projects out, and- Prime! You came!"

Optimus chose to ignore that little slip, nodded his head, letting his gentle amusement tone his next words:

"Of course I came. I'm curious to see the products of your free-time. Free-time that wasn't spent on pulling pranks on others."

"Tell me about it," Prowl deadpanned, Jazz snickered into his chest, hugged him closer.

A glimpse of the Lamborghini-devils trademark mischievousness sneaked into the tall warrior's optics.

"Well, well, well. . . If it isn't the newly-bonded couple," Sunstreaker cracked a wicked grin. "I'm honoured that you'd abandon the berth for littl' ol' me, just like that!"

"Ya know how it is, Sunny," Jazz spoke lazily, visor flashing in his version of a playful wink. "- even the healthiest o' mechs need a break after 20 'facin'-sessio-"

"Jazz," Prowl interrupted mildly, sipping at the high-grade he held in his free hand.

"Ye~es, sweet-spark?"

"How do you fancy recharging on the couch?"

"Prowl!" The visored Autobot looked absolutely horrified at the mere thought of it.

"Ooo~kay, Moving on," the yellow twin whistled, all the while holding the small inventor close with his arm. He swung his free arm out, gestured at the various objects in the small space they occupied, "This, guys, is 'Remedial Razzmatazz'! My entire collection of random crafts, sculpts, paintings, etcetera. . . Enjoy'em!"

Optimus chuckled and took some steps forward, studied a small, red tin-metal man which, judging by its tiny size, had probably taken about forever to form. It was sculpted so that it looked like the man was frozen in a frenzied mid-jump. A description next to it read: 'Spike Witwicky in ant-nest'.

"That one is my favourite," Bluestreak snickered next to him, not noticing how Sideswipe tried to recapture his attention, eagerly pulling at his arm.

The former Prime agreed with the small Datsun, this was a kind of art he thoroughly enjoyed, it brought memories back. Currently the artist pulled Wheeljack towards a middle-centred piece, a colourful, funny-looking sculpture of something that resembled an Earth-born, organic porcupine of sorts. All the spikes were in different colours, had different lengths.

"'Jack, here it is, check it out!"

The smaller mech did, at first astonished by the sheer size of it, but his optics travelled down to the pedestal it was placed upon. He read the description:

". . . 'Jack's fireworks'?"

"Yeah," the shiny, yellow Lamborghini grinned, tightened his one-arm-hug on the surprised scientist's shoulder a little. "My visit to your lab really inspired me. Remember? Back when you blew all those fluorescent liquids up. . . It was awesome!"

"I didn't realize-, how, that happened years ago! When did you decide to immortalize that?"

"I know I didn't tell you about building this," the 'bot huffed, optics locking with the smaller scientist's. "It's been a secret project of mine, I've been working on it forever since. It had to be absolutely perfect before I would share it. . . I've dedicated it to you."

"Thank you," Wheeljack marvelled, a digit tracing on of the purple spikes of the 'thing'. Optimus wanted to stay and observe the sweetness of the scene unfolding before him, but an older, yet still very familiar face stole his attention.

". . . Kup," he mumbled, leaving the others behind him as he quickly stalked down the old veteran, the Prime's mentor.

"Kup," he rumbled softly, putting a servo on his old friend's shoulder. "How are you?"

"Optimus?" he seemed confused, dazed. "Ah, hey, I'm good, I'm good. . ."

"Kup, where's Rodimus?"

"Rodimus is, ah, just talking with someone. I just need to occupy myself for a little while, you know, until I am supposed to come and reclaim him." The old warrior grasped for a cube of strong high-grade, downed it immediately. Optimus was worried, looked over the mech's shoulder.

There.

Rodimus looked incredible, his flashy red and orange armor shone in the soft, flashing lights of the Hall, his young face animated with feverously many emotions. He seemed nervous, awkward. Fearful.

Ah.

He was talking to Cronius, of course. Optimus couldn't truly make out what they where talking about, except for short snippets like:

"- We were both wrong to cause such a scene-"

Weird, show could the Elite has such a smarmy-seeming face all of a sudden when addressing Rodimus, when earlier it had been all resentment and distaste. But then Optimus heard the most unusual thing:

"- There's someone who has been eager to meet his new Prime-"

Kup, who had been watching, too, made a soft, pained static-sound, grabbed for more high-grade. The former Prime felt other of the Autobots' optics on the introduction-scene some metres away.

The supposed '_real_' host of the gala mad his entrance, and everything seemed to quiet. Amazar was about as tall as Prowl, which made him a mech of average height. But his limbs were as slender and carefully sculpted as a femme-'bot's. His colour was a golden, shiny yellow, not unlike Sunstreaker's, but unlike the Lamborghini-twin his body was completely free of scars and imperfections. His optics burned a lazy, purple-ish blue. They seemed dead.

"My Prime," he spoke in a low, nearly static-lazed voice. A shiver went down Optimus' spine. "I am greatly honoured to be bestowed with your presence tonight."

"I, err, am excited about being here, Amazar. I hope that you keep up the great work with your arts."

"As my Prime commands."

". . . That-, Sir, that wasn't meant as an order, merely a friendly suggestion-"

"Good, good," Cronius spoke loudly, ushered the Prime closer to his son's cold, indifferent presence. "Continue on, everybody, enjoy the gala. Rodimus, Amazar, let me get you two some of my most excellent high-grade."

The buzzing chatter of the party slowly resumed. Kup was staring into his empty cube, the gears churning painfully in his head. Sunstreaker leaned in, whispered confidingly at the taller 'bots:

"I'll agree with the majority here and admit that Amazar's 100 percent 'optic-candy'. . . But, _Pit_, he's the freakiest 'bot I've ever encountered! I've met him at the Great House of Arts once, and I swear he's always like that! Overly stoic, silent. . . Creepy!"

"Kup, they're just talking," the semi tried to reassure the old mech, speaking it so lowly that only the two of them could hear.

"Sunny, I need to find Perceptor," Wheeljack said carefully beside them, trying gently to pull out of the ex-warriors arms. "We can always get together tomorrow, right? Besides, the party seems to have dwindled down anyway."

"Aww, come'n, it only just started! Can't you stay a little longer?"

"No, please Sunny, I should have gone after him long ago. I need to find him!"

"Already found 'im, sent 'im home," a gruff voice spoke as the trigger-happy Ironhide appeared from behind the inventor. "Sorry I'm late, guys. I misplaced mah invitation, had a brief conversation with Hound from the control-room, ran into Percy as I said. . . Littl' guy seemed upset, and I sent 'im home."

"Oh, cool. Well? Did ya see my exhibition?" Sunstreaker grinned, always welcoming the sight of their old friend, who seemed to had gotten a bit absent-minded after their return to Cybertron.

"Yeah. . . Some pretty weird shit ya made there, Sunny-boy."

"Hah! I knew he'd say that! Pay up, 'Sides," the yellow twin grinned at this brother.

"You're so weird to be excited about someone not liking your art, bro'. But, whatever," the red twin sighed. "You know, I can't find Blue anywhere. I think Imma head back home," the red Lamborghini sighed, seeming exhausted.

"Sooo, the party's over?" Ironhide asked, obviously dissapointed, optics scanning the room for a trace of high-grade which he could always appreciate a drop of two of, "Yer're all in a foul mood an' are ready to call it a night?"

"Ah, hold that thought, 'hide; leave the grand finalé for our newly arrived guest. Cuz, you know, it ain't over 'til the fat Seeker screams," Sunstreaker declared, gesturing at the suddenly approaching Decepticon Seeker-trine, causing his brother to break into laughter.

"Ah, the Jet Judo boys," Skywarp mock-praised as he and the other two stood in front of the many Autobots, his red optics immediately comparing his shiny black plating to the twins' glossy-looking wax-jobs. "You're here!"

"Well, whoop-de-fraggin'-doo. . ." Starscream spoke, staring at his fellow jets.

"So? Since when d'ya care about arts? That's a processor-recommended thing, isn't it?"

"Very funny, Mr. Scratch-in-the-Chest-Plates," the former Air Commander huffed, and Optimus winched inwardly. He certainly knew which bottoms to push to get the twins fuels burning.

Sunstreaker growled, but, surprisingly, Ironhide stepped in and stopped the exchange before it turned truly ugly.

"Okay, knock it off, all of ya!" he turned to the red Seeker, asked in a serious tone: "I take it Shockwave comm.'ed ya, told ya about the message from Hound on Earth?"

"Yes, a klik ago," the 'Con nodded. He looked Optimus in the eyes before addressing both him and Kup: "Optimus, Kup, and Rodimus obviously, you'll want to hear about this."

"Is something's the matter?"

"Nah, not exactly, Optimus," Ironhide spoke in his gruff voice. "It's the humans. They wanna have a meeting about somethin', want the leaders of Cybertron to come to them, discuss a possible future alliance of sorts."

"We already have three out-stationed soldiers on Earth for an un-negotiated period of time. Hound, Mirage, and Bumblebee. Aren't we already in some sort of alliance?"

"Sure, we are," Starscream said. "But the humans want access to our weapon-technology and such. They think it's a fair demand after letting us stay there for as long as we did while fighting our war."

"Obviously this needs to be considered severely," the semi mused, the others nodded. "When is this meeting?"

"That's what I wanted to speak to Starscream about," Ironhide grumbled, the Seeker shrugged, locked optics with Optimus briefly, before he was guided away.

". . . Yeah, this party is officially dead," sideswipe huffed. "It's gone _politics _now!"

"Tell Ratchet we said 'hey', Optimus," Sunstreaker smirked. Optimus blinked.

"Ratchet?"

"Behind you, you glitch."

The former Prime spun around, stared dumbly at the unamused-looking ambulance. He shifted uneasily on his pedals.

". . . Please don't tell me you've been here all night?"

"Of course I haven't been _here_, fool," he snapped. "I got better things to do that stalk you around, trying to fix out your messes!"

"I, ah, should probably go," Kup mumbled, knowing that despite the war-experience a mech could achieve in a life-time, it would never be sufficient when facing off with an angered Ratchet. ". . . I think I felt a distress-comm. link from Rodimus. Have a, err, pleasant evening."

Ratchet didn't answer, he merely grabbed Optimus by the arm, dragged him on unsteady legs towards the door.

"Ratchet, are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine. I'm very good, actually. Well, despite knowing that me and my justice-wanting, freedom-fighting friends are getting over-energized while a little village in the Shadow Valley is starving to death?"

Optimus pulled his arm out of the CMO's painfully hard grip.

"The emergency-rations have been sent off, Ratchet, help is on the way, I promise! Kup arranged the flight like he said he would, I saw the take-off on my computer back home."

"And yet all of you are over-consuming, and Primus knows, _having it off _with each other, like immature, irresponsible younglings, uncaring of the world around, just 'facing back and forth, factions and morale be damned! What do you have to say to defend yourself?"

"-Ratchet, are you over-energized yourself?"

"Frag that, Optimus! What's going on between you and Starscream?"

Silence. . .

Optimus stared in disbelief at the enraged, white mech. Was this really about _that_?

"My friend," he started carefully, forming each word in his processor before speaking them, "I know what a couple of Elites think, I know about those silly rumours. 'Jack told me-"

"Oh, shut it! 'Jack was either being too careful with letting you know the truth or he just didn't know the severity of the situation," the CMO snapped, optics flaring. "It isn't just 'a couple of Elites'! Frag that, _everybody _who is somebody suspects! Apparently you let him drag you down a public hall, filled to the brim with important mechs and femmes, so that you could have 'lunch' together?"

_Not to mention that he kissed me the other night. . ._

"Say something!"

"Ratchet, I don't understand how you can be this upset," he tried to calm the fuming medic, put a servo on the white shoulder, a shoulder aged from war and the losses of too many comrades. "Even if I _was _seeing Starscream in a romantic way I wouldn't be breaking any laws. Not anymore."

"You're letting him get to close to you, Optimus!" the ambulance countered, "It won't turn out the way you'd want it to. If you think that he's changed that much he'll disappoint you greatly!"

"Why do you keep implying that Starscream is the enemy? The war is over, we're in truce! As a matter of fact he and _Ironhide_ of all mechs are discussing a problem occurring on Earth! And together we'll also do something about the Shadow Valley and Flaiz, the _real_ threat-"

"Flaiz is not the enemy! He's a mech you're leaving for death!" Ratchet snarled furiously, "And for all I know Screamer could be plotting to spike the energon we're sending their way, poison it, start a whole new war that'll lead us all to our destruction! I've seen it way too many times before, Optimus, I won't let it happen to that poor little village, and I won't let it happen to you!"

Ratchet was nearly screaming at this point, his arms gesturing wildly, legs trembling. Optimus knew he was drunk, but his own anger was peaking dangerously. Luckily a strong pair of red arms snaked their way around the white mech's chest, pulled him upright.

"Would ya stop, ya crazy glitch," Ironhide hissed in disapproval and light shock, taking the CMO away from the many frightened spectators of the Art Hall. "Primus, yer've had a lot!"

"Let GO!"

"Alright, Optimus, it seems I gotta play babysitter for'em all. Have a nice evening, if, err, ya can now, after all this. . ."

Optimus nodded briskly, watched as the veteran pulled and dragged the flailing, kicking and howling medic towards the main-road of Iacon, away from the Grand Hall of Cybertronian Arts. He quickly accepted that the Elites and Alphas around him wouldn't stop staring and so he, simply and angrily, walked out after them, at a good distance.

He didn't make it far away before he was stopped again. . .

"Some fine impressions your people have of me," a dark voice sneered from the darkness of an out-door corridor.

"Starscream," he acknowledged, suddenly tired and guilty-feeling. "You heard. . ."

"Everybody heard. . . At least everybody in reach of a 100 kilometres radius."

"Look, I'm sorry," the semi began, walking slowly towards the small jet in the darkness, leaving all the busy life and high-grade of the Elites behind to stand in the shadowed, smelling gutter with the Seeker. "He was over-energized, made some assumptions-"

"Oh, 'assumptions'? Actually, with an education as brilliant as mine I'd dare the humiliation and call those 'accusations'." The painfully beautiful 'Con was by no means amused. "So? You believe him? You think I wanna kill you, kill those suffering workers? Destroy everything I worked so slaggin' hard to achieve for millennia?"

He poked angrily and provokingly at the glass of the former Prime's chest.

"If your holy medic knew all the fraggin' _slag _I had to go through just to be _somewhat functioning _the day that bastard Megatron finally off-lined, then he might have held his glossa, or, at least, lowered his volume to fraggin' _80 percent instead_!"

"Starscream-"

"Slag you, Autobot! _Slag_ you, _rust_ you, _frag_ you, you _fraggin_'-"

Optimus held onto the struggling jet's shoulders and arms, tried to calm him. The Seeker kicked fiercely, optics burning like lava, lightening up the short space between their faces.

"Frag it, you stupid, stupid-, Agh, come here!"

Starscream grasped and clawed for his face, pulled it to himself. Optimus' optics widened as the Decepticon leader desperately pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his audio, breathed heavily into them, causing the semi to back into the thick, concrete wall behind them, support their combined weight against it.

"_Wings_, Optimus, touch them!"

Optimus' engines roared to life, his servos released the other's shoulder momentarily only to grip onto the razor-like wings, ran a wandering 'hand' down its surface. The Seeker gasped in delight, pressed a more gentle kiss to the larger mech's nose, glossa poking out at times, teasingly dipping down behind the face-mask, where it was possible, tasted at the unseen metal of the former Prime's lower face.

The semi let a daring servo travel down Starscream's side, felt at the narrow waist, gripped roughly at the red plating of his pelvic. Touched, sensed, marvelled.

"Primus," the jet whispered, his hands currently exploring chest, glass, shoulders, neck, and optic-brows of the large truck-transformer. He remembered to occupy his mouth again with planting light, curious kisses along the large mech's jaw-line.

Somehow, despite how violent the 'kissing' had started, the rush and desperation dwindled softly, leaving them both resting shakily against each other, servos flat on the other's chest.

The sounds of the city returned. With them so did reality.

"Thank you," Optimus rumbled softly, servos and digits travelling lazily again, pinching and caressing at the red-patterned wings. The Seeker blinked up at him, his mouth slightly agape. He was panting.

"Eh, no need to thank me. Your hands did a really good job, themselves."

"I didn't mean that," he cycled patiently through his vents, the excess heat leaving condense-water pearls on the smaller jet's cheeks. He looked absolutely stunning.

". . . For dragging you away from Cronius when he was harassing your precious Prime verbally? At the beginning of the party?"

Optimus chuckled and couldn't contain himself from running a surprisingly greedy servo down the soft curve of Starscream's back, over his perky, cherry-red aft, tickling his white, lithe legs. The Seeker gasped and shuddered softly against the grill and glass of the former Prime.

"I'm thankful that you did that. Truly," he held the other closer, content about being hidden in the dark shadows with a mech that somewhat understood his needs without really knowing them. "Like I told you my processor still runs on its 'Prime Coding', it won't let me back out of situations like that. . . I still act like was I a Prime."

"I don't buy that 'brainwash' slag of yours! You think that way because all the rest of the helpless, idiot glitches in there won't let you be anybody else but your past," a voice snapped, slightly muffled against his neck, a tongue darted out to taste at an energon-cable, his dental-plating grazed over some sensitive wiring. ". . . You're not the Prime anymore. You're you."

Optimus shivered in delight, his processor over-heating while trying to comprehend why a beautiful, young 'bot like Starscream would want to grace him with this kind of attention. He grasped the jet a little tighter.

"Hmm, maybe I need to teach myself some common sense, stop acting what I stopped being orns ago."

"Oh, I agree. . . Mmm, and maybe I should teach myself some self-control," the 'Con purred against his chest. "Otherwise my 'Promise of the Bonding Night' will be worth slag soon. . ."

Optimus let that sink in and nano-kliks later he had pulled away from the warmth and pleasure that was Starscream. The smaller mech pouted visibly.

"Forgive me," Optimus cursed himself inwardly, hating that he had obviously let things go too far _again_, just like the other night. "I truly didn't mean to get this frisky with you, I. . ." He pinched the brink of his nose, visible from his face-mask, tried to collect his scattered thoughts.

"I never intended to put you in a bad light, Starscream," he spoke, his dim optics met the rubies of Starscream's dark, expressive face. "For that I am deeply sorry."

"Don't be stupid. You're the one that suffers the most under their petty gossip. It's not like I _care_," a grim smirk slipped into his face. "Besides, my reputation is long ruined, Optimus. Remember?"

"That still doesn't make it fair to you," the former Prime responded, spark clenching at the thought of somebody somewhere bad-mouthing the gorgeous mech in front of him. "Why should you put up with everybody talking behind your back, speaking of you 'corrupting a senior politician and former Prime, reducing him by seducing him'? They're spreading lies, Starscream."

"We actually _did _just kiss if you didn't notice," The Seeker spoke deadpan, clearly unimpressed. He sighed when the semi failed to answer that. "For Primus sake, _chill_! . . . Look, we merely got caught in some weird moment of emotional tumult. It happens to everybody!"

He gave Optimus a soft smile, tilted his head as he regarded the large Autobot. He chuckled faintly.

"Welcome back to the world of the 'normal'. . . It's okay to make little, delicious mistakes."

Optimus was left staring after Starscream as he walked past him, those ruby optics glittering contently and fondly at nothing in particular.

"Mmm, and boy did I miss losing myself in little, delicious mistakes like that," the Seeker purred softly, hips swaying as he moved out on the main street of Iacon, disappeared in the crowd of the night. The stars twinkled above them, a distant super nova illuminated the dark indigo of the sky in radioactive spectrum-patterns not unlike the Aurora Borealis of Earth. It was a spectacular sight to behold.

Somewhere in Iacon a white and black Praxian pulled his newly-bonded to his chest, whispered private, adoring sentiments in his audio. The visored mech leaned back in his lover's arms, overwhelmed with happiness and a sense of blessed completion.

Somewhere else a young Prime had fallen asleep against the shoulder of his mentor, exhausted from a long day and too many hours of emotional chaos. Said mentor was an aged Autobot soldier, known to be emotional distant and indifferent in manners of the spark. But right there, however, he leaned his head down carefully, made certain his protégé was asleep, pressed his lip-plating to the softly snoring mech's forehead, mumbled a gentle 'sweet recharge'.

On Earth a white and blue Alpha studied his long-term friend resting under an organic tree, sleep-talking about 'energon-treats' and 'goblins'. The Alpha's wistful, happy smile was quickly suppressed and the mech transformed and drove off into their human-built base.

All the while, while couples and lovers embraced each other around the universe, Optimus was left alone in the darkness of the buzzing Capital wondering how 'making mistakes' with Starscream could be considered _normal _when all it did to him was making him feel special and blessed. Anything but ordinary.

_I should probably be worried. . ._

He walked home in silence.

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~ ~ ~ TBC ~ ~ ~

**So. . . more make-out action? Hooray! Do I write these kinds of scenes alright? No, really, tell me! If I'm ever to write some M-rating-ish stuff for 'Neophytes' (and****, by Primus, I actually want to!) then I need to know if it's utterly hopeless. . . Or if it's readable. **

**Also: I know some people are anxious to see Skyfire (and probably hating me for making him suffer) but be at ease; I got something nice planned out for him in the future and he'll make an appearance in the next chapter. And Ratchet will do something stupid (I'm seriously frightened and stupefied on his behalf!)**

**Also-also: the true Optimus-Starscream-romance **_**IS**_** coming, but they will need time to figure things out; I simply cannot see them rushing into this. So please enjoy their clueless hunt for love whilst their destined partner is standing right by them all the way – they'll understand eventually and the results will be worth all the time spent waiting and all the confusion in the universe.**

**Thank you**** for reading! Don't forget to leave a review. **

**Buttermilk-chick over and out!**


	4. New Apprehensions

"**Somebody went to Area 51 and all I got was this lousy T-shirt!"**

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Neophytes

**Pairings: **OP/Screamer, One-sided Skyfire/Screamer, Jazz/Prowl/Perceptor, Sunstreaker/Wheeljack, hinted Sideswipe/Bluestreak, Kup/Rodimus

**Warnings for chapter: **Unrequited mechxmech love, Angst, Glimpses of my random humour, Attempt at plot, Shifts in narration-POV, OCs, Horribly, horribly unbetaed

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**A/N**** #1: **Alright, guys, seriously, **you rock**! Heehee, 'Neophytes' has made it to two communities (TY _Ceris Malfoy_ and _Karin, _da~aaarlings), and, yes, to me that's considered quite a big deal :D *grins goofily*

Also, Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers who's taken a few precious minutes of their time to write me a littl' somethin' after reading. M'aaaw, I heart you so much! Just for you, I wished I could update more regularly, feed you with endless streams of chapters of love-struck mechs trying to save the world, yet again, yet again. . . Plz, keep'em reviews coming :3

And, of course, many thanks to the people adding 'Neophytes' to their favs and/or alerts. . . *Ish stupidly satisfied with herself*

**Y****'all're fuel to mah fire!**

**A/N #2****: **Finally: an update D'8 – Sorry I took so long! I'm a rather busy girl at the moment, school and all. . . . . But now FINALLY: enter zeh Skyfire! This time in über introspective angst-like-mode, apparently . . . . . . Ugh, despite what all of you may think by now I actually adore the poor dork _and _enjoy the Skyfire/Starshine pairing. But my not-so-secret OTP is obviously OP/SS. . . So no SF/SS for you, not this time . . . Sorry if anybody got their hopes up.

Okay, it seems it's time to get on with my so-called plot. . . *sigh* Where did't go?

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**Feedback is cherished and scientifically proved to be liquid encouragement (?) xD **

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Chapter IV . . . New Apprehensions

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In the bright glow of the morning-suns of Cybertron the gentle-mannered giant Skyfire could be found in the dimmed lights of his personal lab, rustling through old-dated data-pads, organic plant-samples, or, like right now, the morning edition of 'Iacon Daily'.

A smile tucked at the corner of his lip-plating, his sky-blue optics lightening up as he read the Art-section reviews of 'Remedial Razzmatazz'.

Small snippets of hieroglyphs had the space-shuttle chuckling softly to himself, pride and joy at his friend's brilliantly successful debut filled his spark as he read comments like ". . . as unique as the artist himself. . ." or ". . . bold, daring, unrealistically realistic. Keep your optical-sensors zoomed-in on Autobot Sunstreaker. . ."

Of course the overall headlines had been stolen by the Elite's son, Amazar, and his collection of old-fashioned, neon-coloured paintings, dramatic still-shots of war, of old-fashioned worshipping-ceremonies of Primes, chaos and beauty, scenes from classic Cybertronian tales. His talent truly _was_ beyond this galaxy, the large scientist admitted to himself, but had to repress a shudder as he noticed a 'picture', a time-frozen hologram of the proud, aged Cronius posing next to the stoic, golden artist. The emptiness in the young, beautiful mech's 'eyes' had Skyfire put the data-pad aside uncomfortably.

_At least I __couldn't attend the Gala last night _Skyfire mused, sipping at a small cube of energon, trying weakly to bring his focus away from gossip and back at his current experiments. _Rumour has it most of my friends created quite the scenes. . . Wouldn't want to be caught up in anything of great immoral dimensions when I'm astro-seconds away from a break-through in my studies._

He took a moment to gaze around the room, taking in all the glistening glass tubes, the numerous data-pads lying around scattered on the floor and on the shelves. Quiet.

But of course it was quiet, it was his _private _lab; generously offered to him as a token of Cybertron's gratitude for his great efforts during the War. . . . And he wasn't even an educated soldier.

It was always quiet in the morning, providing the always appreciated serenity science demanded. Serenity for concentration and immersion.

But the silence and calm was so unlike his old work-sanctuary back from his time on Earth. The Ark had not been big enough to provide the Autobot scientists more than one room to work in, and the result had been a tight squeeze, awkward shuffles against each other, multiple metal-fingers fumbling for the same samples, instruments, and whatnot. In the end they'd all found it to hilarious to be bothered by it.

Skyfire's new workplace was way more accommodated to his basic needs, like for example: a high roof and broader doors. And the giant loved to joke with his friends, admitting to them how good it felt to not bend over or walk sideways when at work. One chair, positioned by the desk, had been purchased with the thought in mind that the space-shuttle-transformer was just _a teeny bit _larger and heavier than the average 'bot. The tools and glass tubes were also designed to be handled by stronger digits, so that the scientist would not be worrying too much about breaking the fragile things.

In short: the ideal paradise for a mech like Skyfire.

. . . . But his new sanctuary, his new paradise, it lacked Wheeljack's random explosions and crazy ideas, Perceptor's excited, constant chatter and obvious interest in every experiment he was running. It lacked the feeling of being part of something greater, the feeling of sharing the incredible experience of discovering and creating.

If he was to be honest with himself, Skyfire had felt horribly lonely since their arrival back on Cybertron.

All the parties, the social gatherings, they only added to that feeling. Every time Wheeljack or someone else got him convinced to go he was reminded that everything was different now, that peace had come. Not that he had _enjoyed_ being at war, quite the opposite . . . but suddenly his friends began coupling up (Prowl and Jazz taking the prize of being the first), and he was cruelly forced to admit to himself that he had been in stasis lock, buried away in ice, for a long, long, long time; a long enough time to not be a true, ingrown part of any faction. He hadn't been Decepticon, that much was certain, but neither had he been an Autobot for as long as his friends. And all the other Autobots knew each other, had small threads of history with each other, had crushes on each other. . . He had had no change of finding true love, a spark mate, within the Autobot faction, new as he was to it, _un-intertwined_.

So he had waited. . . . .

And when peace had finally come, the one 'bot he had hoped, fantasized, _prayed_ to have a future with, well, he-

The door to the lab slid open with a gentle hiss, interrupting his depressing train of thoughts. The giant turned around in his chair, ready to greet whatever friend that had come to see him 'good morning', but the words got caught in his vocaliser as his optics fell to rest on the red jet, the beautiful bane of his existence.

"Starscream. . ." he mumbled softly in wonder.

"Ugh, lower the volume, please, I'm hung-over!"

Skyfire had to chuckle softly, pleased that the matter of 'war versus peace' didn't change _everything_.

"Still can't hold your high-grade, Star?"

The Seeker glared but ceased to comment that, stole a cube of energon from his private dispenser instead, downing it while strutting slowly down by the shelf-covered wall. Skyfire watched him wistfully, his processor recalling old-dated memory-files of similar visions, back from his Academy days. He remembered Starscream and him arguing during science-debates, the red mech with his teeth bared, competitively fury flaring in his optics. An unlikely friendship had budded from that first encounter. Skyfire remembered joors spent staring at experiments, discussing the possible outcome of their hard labour. He smiled faintly as he recalled them experiencing high-grade together, for the first time, as a long-running experiment succeeded, making them famous in their class, in their entire year.

The following hang-over had been disastrous. Nothing but torture.

. . . . He missed the old days.

"Well, I'm impressed. . . You seem to have some sort of order in your 'pads," the small Decepticon commented as he studied the, painfully so, alphabetically arranged data on the shelves. He gazed shortly at the large Autobot out of the corner of his optic. "You never really grasped the fundamentals of 'basic cleaning' back in the old days."

"I like to think I've matured since then, unlike others-" Starscream made a face and poked his glossa out at the large shuttle, "- no, I simply figured that if I ever was to be respected as a scientist again, perhaps now was the time to act my age, gain full control of my life. . . settle down."

The 'Con didn't say anything nor did his face reveal his emotions to such a statement. But Skyfire didn't miss the way those red, sharp wings dropped, his former fellow-explorer's aura saddening.

He hurriedly changed the subject:

"But according to all I've heard this morning my friends, even those older than I, failed to stay democratically sober last night? Do you agree?" he drummed his fingertips against the tabletop, "Or are all us winners of the War behaving like true role-models?"

". . . ." Starscream grabbed a random 'pad, started skimming it, "You'd have decided to get drunk, too, had you actually been there. The hosts made one consider self-deactivation, all those expensive wax-jobs hurt my optics, and those insufferable Lamborg-, _gaaah_, damnable processor-ache!"

"A successful night, I take it?" He smirked.

"Slag yeah, all of my and 'Warp's hard labour paid off, as we finally got to see Thundercracker rightfully smashed! Heeh, though, after witnessing noble and stoic TC grab a tiny Elite's aft, we decided that our 'reward of succeeding' had to involve getting drunk ourselves, erase those images from our processor;" the 'Con grinned softly, played with the empty cube in his servos, "- admittedly, it wasn't my most brilliant of impulses during the span of my lifetime to let Optimus feed me all that high grade. I have serious trouble remembering what time today we're leaving for Earth through the Space Bridge. . ."

Skyfire jerked softly, involuntarily, his 'hand' dropping from the tabletop, came to rest on his thigh.

"Huh," the jet mused absently, "- No doubt that geezer Ironhide'll give me an earful if I'm lat-"

"You got over-energized with Optimus?" the shuttle interrupted softly, his servo rising to press to a newly developed ache in his temple. A tiny voice began whispering in his mind, a voice he had successfully managed to ignore for the last couple of days.

"Well, yes, I did," a bright pair of red optics narrowed, almost as if daring him to protest. . . no, more as if warning him against doing so. "We happen to sit in the same Council, I'll have you know! Why, actually there only is that _one _Iacon Council, that _one _Parliament of factions . . . And I'd choose to socialize with that huge, sentimental dork over those snobbish Tower mechs and femmes anytime."

"Of course, I see," the large Autobot fidgeted with his empty energon cube again, this time in his lap. His mind was racing, forming the sentence he was about to speak, the huge, growing bubble of disappointment and regret in his spark overtrumping his mind telling him to _'change the subject again! Say something else, anything but this!' _. . .

". . . But I guess I was still somewhat right all along. Your type really is the tall, silent ones."

_There. _

The way Starscream immediately tensed, wings flinching violently, face horribly unguarded in his shock. . . It was clear now that the words that had travelled through the city had at least some truths to them. Skyfire's lip-plating flattened into a thin line, optics dimming in understanding.

He had subconsciously ignored every story, every rumour spoken in either excitement or disgust; his processor had refused to acknowledge the possibility, the sheer spark-breaking tragedy, of his former Autobot Commander, and . . . . . and _his _Star. Involved.

Starscream really didn't like him back in a romantic way.

The 'Con quickly threw his cool façade up in place again, an unpretty sneer on his lips. His usual arrogant Air Commander act was back on:

"Quiet snivelling, it's degrading!" he huffed, pacing around the lab, proving exactly how Cybertronian fliers were incapable of standing just remotely still when distressed, "- Hah, adult mechs don't go around weeping like fraggin' femmes when they don't get their way!"

Skyfire sat jittery in his chair, huge servos folding and unfolding in his lap, chest aching as the Seeker ranted on in his screechiest and most furious voice, cascading him in insults and mockery; the Seeker's own way of getting his frustration out of his system.

Neither mechs managed to look the other in the optics.

"Primus, _you_," the jet gestured angrily at the giant, accidently knocking several liquid-samples in their glass tubes off of a table with his arm, "- you never had any right to expect and _plan_ a future for the two of us without . . . _slag! _That really pissed me off, Sky'!"

"I thought-," The shuttle began abruptly, cutting of another tirade, but stopped himself, corrected his words, "- I mean, I believed, I _hoped_! And I'm s-sorry that I wasn't being more of a gentlebot with my f-flir- . . . with my c-courtship, I was over-energize-"

"C-courtship?," Starscream's jaw dropped, his optics locking with his friend's in disbelief, "You dolt, you weren't 'wooing' me, or whatever pathetic expressions you foolish Autobots use in these matters! You were practically groping me, licking my servo, calling me nicknames, right in front of my entire faction, the Elite I'm representing every day in the High Council! In front of _your_ slaggin' faction, too, for that matter!"

"- And I told you I'm sorry!", Skyfire rose to his pedals, his height had him towering over the leering jet. It would have made a threatening pose if not for the Autobot's pleading look, his facial features almost making him look like a sparkling, "- All I needed you to know, to understand, is that I've wanted to honour you since _forever_; be with you, make you feel like the incredible mech you are . . . For the rest of our lives. I just wanted you to- . . . I just wanted you."

The desperate fury in the jet's aura drained, his wings hanging sadly from his shoulders. His true self shone through, and the mutual misery they shared in that moment became visible to the shuttle's 'eyes'.

Skyfire couldn't believe the pain he had caused to the mech he claimed to love. He suddenly hated himself. He hated the war for ever happening, hated the peace for ruining his dreams of sharing a life with his former science partner. He was deeply shocked by his ability to hate this deeply, and therefore he forced himself to swallow the grief, regain some of his trademark calm; and he forced himself to ignore how it seemed as if his spark was shrinking, disappearing into a bleeding knot of light; almost like a dying star.

"I just wanted my friend back!" Starscream hissed quietly, sitting defeatedly in a lone, visitor's chair, optics off-lined.

The was a long silence.

"Yes. I know that now. . . Probably knew for a while," Skyfire admitted, falling back into his chair facing the Seeker, optics off-lined as well. "I . . . I guess I subconsciously decided to ignore what I knew in my processor. Decided to let the hope in my spark do all the reasoning, take all the decisions when it came to regaining your trust."

"Huh . . ." Starscream muttered, brushing a small piece of dirt off of his red armour half-heartedly.

"I just wish I could go back, stop myself from ruining everything between us. As friends, I mean."

"Fragger," was the impatient huff, followed by a sad sigh, "It's not a lost cause. We've been at war for decades, we've won our peace, saved our home planet; so don't tell me you're now too much of a coward to fight for our friendship."

"I'm not," Skyfire assured softly, searching out the 'Con's optics, finding them. "I'd never stop fighting for you. You're my oldest friend, you're precious to me."

"Sap . . ." the Seeker mumbled in vague embarrassment, but a quick scan proved to the shuttle that his cheek-plating had heated in childish delight, ". . . Let's never fight again, okay?"

"Of course, I'd never willingly be unkind to you . . . Though I don't know about you're ability to keep such a promise. I know how you tend to bitch a lot when you disagree with someone or if you're not getting you way," he chuckled softly, raising his hand at the immediately flash of fury in those ruby 'eyes', "-Now, Starscream, I'm only being honest. You get that way, and it's okay. I wouldn't have you any other way. . ."

"Fine," the 'Con huffed, grabbed the morning edition of 'Iacon Daily' and slapped it over the smiling shuttle's knee, "If that's how our friendship is going to be, _fine_! You get to tease me constantly, while I can verbally abuse you, have you as my personally outlet of stress. . . And I _didn't _mean anything _kinky _by what I just said!"

"Sounds like any other Cybertronian friendship, really." A soft grin.

"Except I'm way more awesome than they'll ever be!" A confident smirk.

"Hmm, perhaps I could find someone else, someone nicer-"

"Don't you dare!"

Skyfire actually laughed this time, overjoyed to see how Starscream's shoulder relaxed in subtle relief at his teasing. The jet _did _want his friendship. They would still be together, even if not in the way he had prayed for them to be.

"Don't worry, I could never find another 'bot like you to be your replacement," he smiled a bit wryly, "If you ever need it, you _know _that I'll listen. Whenever you need to unwind, you can always come to my lab, rant about how Optimus' dedication to protecting you is starting to get on your nerves? . ."

The jet gaped at him, wings rising in disbelief at the comment, the suggestion.

"We're still only _co-workers_, didn't you even listen to me, you daft- . . . Ah, never mind! I could never, ever talk sense into you, not even back in the Science Academy. You even refused to call me anything but that indignifying nickname of yours!"

". . . 'Star'?"

"Yeah, _that's_ the one," the 'Con crossed his arms. "That name does my repetition as a fearless Decepticon Leader no justice!"

". . . You prefer the name 'Screamer'?"

". . . Primus! What the _frag_? My designation is Starscream, S-T-A-R-S-C-R-E-A-M. It symbolizes impossible speed, right? It fits perfectly, why ruin it?" Starscream glared, jabbing his digit to the giant's knee-joint. ". . . You've been influenced by the twins, haven't you? Are you gonna start making crap, wannabe-art now, too?"

"Actually," Skyfire spoke to cover his chuckle, "Sunstreaker's exhibition was rather well-received-"

"Well, tie me up and call me Georgia."

"- Even back on Earth I could see his artistic potential, so I'm thrilled to finally witness him being praised for his talent-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's an intriguing story," Starscream deadpanned, studying the joints of his fingers with little interest, "- but maybe it's better if I went and found out when I'm supposed to meet the others, prepare for take-off."

"Oh, right," Skyfire smiled gently, "for how many days will you be staying on Earth?"

"The meetings themselves shouldn't take more than a couple of days, but since the space bridge demands such enormous amounts of energon every time it's on-lined we'll probably be gone for a week. You know, just 'til the new harvest is in house."

"Who'll run the Council meanwhile?" the space shuttle asked as Starscream got to his legs, winching meanwhile, proving he was still mildly hung-over. "The Prime-"

"- Is coming with us. The humans wish to meet the new Autobot Leader, despite the fact that they still consider Optimus the true symbol of a Cybertronian Commander. . . But whatever, it's not like they'll ever understand our society's way."

"They're smarter than you may think, Star."

"I know that; that's why I'm not that keen on the idea of letting them have access to our weaponry-designs. . . And my name is Star-_scream!_"

"Sorry," he reached out and squeezed the Seeker's shoulder softly, friendly, "Will you tell 'Bee, Hound and 'Raj 'hi' from me when you get to Earth?"

". . . You know, maybe it would be less odd and, you know, awkward if you got another Autobot, someone who actually knows them, to do that." But Starscream smirked all the same, patting the arm on his shoulder firmly. "I'll see you soon, friend."

Skyfire let the word run on repeat in his processor, let his spark taste the strange endearment. Starscream had spoken it in pride and subtle joy, relief even. Because a 'friend' was all Starscream had longed for in him, seen in him. Nothing more, nothing less.

The shuttle's spark still ached, but the pain was more numb now than anything. He realized that his systems were beginning to accept the fact that his romantic wishes for the two of them would be rejected from now on and far into infinity. It would take time, but he would get over it. . . Even if it seemed unfair to give up on the love he felt, since he could name a billion reasons for why they could have been perfect for each other.

". . . We would have been _good_ together, you know," Skyfire mused out-loud as Starscream started to make it for the door, melancholy colouring his words.

It was beautiful. The glistening dark-red colour of the Seeker's wings, limbs, and 'eyes'. It fit perfectly into his laboratory of fuming liquids in glass tubes, samples of organic material; even the screechy sound of his friend's voice in contrast to the dead silence of his 'sanctuary'. It would truly have been good.

Starscream tensed, ruby optics avoiding the space-shuttle's longing gaze, wings dropping sadly.

"Skyfire, please. . ."

Skyfire's mouth quirked sadly, but also a little wryly.

". . . But, admittedly, we were _great _as friends. . ."

The 'Con turned his head, studied his face with surprise written all over his dark, expressive face. Then he smiled. A true, thankful smile, devoid of masks and arrogance.

A smile for Skyfire.

Skyfire smiled back, letting his gentle, obvious adoration escort the Decepticon out of his so-called sanctuary. As soon as the door slit shut again, however, the smile faltered and the giant zoned out, his Autobot blue 'eyes' stared off into nothing.

* * *

Optimus sat in his quarters, watching a sleepy-looking Jazz sitting across from him, staring at a data-pad with a bleary visor. He almost felt bad for asking his friend to help him plan and schedule the next week's duties, knowing it was something that the visored mech had never really found as entertaining as his bonded did, but the fact that Prowl had had to endure a whole meeting with the Elites _and _attend a quick safety-sitting with Red Alert and none other than _Perceptor_, where he'd no doubt be the victim of more death-glares and guilt-trips of past mistakes. . . Well, in Optimus' optics Jazz could handle a short briefing like this.

"'Right, it's obligatory that Prowler, 'Hide, the Hatchet, an' I are stayin' on Cybertron. . ." He scratched his helmet, "We'll keep'em Elites on their toes, make sure they don' go an' corrupt the natural order o' the universe."

The semi chuckled softly, opening the right side of his facemask, drank the last of his morning ration. He made certain that his servo covered and shadowed for his lower facial-plating, even though the scar across his lips was hidden by the left side of the mask.

"I appreciate it, Jazz. And I'm sorry that this whole ordeal couldn't be arranged different, so that you could have come with us, you and Prowl both. I know how much you love Earth, its inhabitants, and their many cultures."

"Nah, don't be," the smaller, dark Autobot waved him off, "There'll be other opportunities. 'Sides, it'd probably scar them governments to see two mechs like us go an' act all lovey-dovey, no?"

"Hmm," Optimus frowned softly, scratching at his audio, "I should probably have though about that before telling both Wheeljack and Sunstreaker to tack along. . ."

Jazz grinned widely, all evidence of his tiredness immediately gone.

"Hah! That's the slaggin' _best _idea ya've ever had!" he let himself fall back in his seat, kicking his pedals up on the various 'pads on the table, "The humans will be too distracted by Sunny trying to get som' to notice that they should be attempting to get our weapons!"

"That wasn't the true intentions of bringing them, and yet I can see you point," the larger mech hummed good-humouredly.

"Who else then? Who're ya bringin'on yer merry quest?"

Optimus handed over a list of names, rising from his seat, walked the short distance to his computer as Jazz made himself even more comfortable (if possible) and started reading.

As the screen booted on-line, hieroglyphs lightening up the former Prime's face, he replayed the former night's encounters in his processor. Despite his light hang-over from the high-grade he'd consumed at the Gala he'd experienced no severe physical discomforts when waking from recharge. But he off-lined his optics with a silent sigh, the nagging and constant ache in his processor from having argued as furiously with Ratchet as he had returned full-force. It always hurt to fight with friends. But Ratchet was one of his oldest friends. And he'd chewed him out big time. And for _what?_

Optimus stared purposefully into the screen, tracked down the emergency-ration shuttle, read the fuel statics, the distance-radar, read _every single _detail about its flight-schedule, its speed, its crew-members' health. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Not even an accidental scratch in the shuttle's _plating _had been detected.

Everything was alright!

Help was one the way to the Shadow Valleys!

Ratchet was wrong to worry!

. . . _Wasn't he?_

Optimus' frown deepened, a gnawing sensation of unease spread in his circuits. Now, when sobered, the former Prime could easily make sense of the CMO's guilt at getting over-energized in a sparkling, glowing, _pulsing _city whilst an isolated population of Cybertronian workers suffered from hunger under the very same sky, at the very same moment. And he remembered the Council, some of the Elites' distaste at having to share energon with the Shadow-mechs, Cronius' obvious hatred. . . The sense of unease grew stronger.

Optimus shook himself out of his trance-like state, walked to the table to grab his and Jazz' empty cubes, went to recycle them. As he watched them disappear down the recycle-shaft, into engulfing darkness, he remembered his friend's accusations. He slammed the hatch shut, walked back inside, ignored his smaller visitor's inquiring look. Ratchet was _very wrong_ to accuse Starscream of being behind an imaginary act of betrayal.

Yes, admittedly the Seeker had quite the history of mutinous behaviour. But that had been under the reign of Megatron; and all the failed attempts at becoming the ruler of the chaotic faction had been made in desperation for control. Because only whilst being in control had Starscream ever had a fragile chance of getting the Decepticons back on track towards their true cause, their hope of achievement: equality.

Optimus fell back into his large, comfortable couch across from the now staring Jazz, and a strong urge to defend the small Decepticon suddenly overwhelmed him. His mind refused to stop flashing memory-snap shots of an enraged, humiliated beauty in a dark alleyway, hurt and defensive as he yelled at the large semi about the unfairness of it all. . .

"Err, Optimus-?"

"Starscream is loyal to Iacon. Or he will be as long as the Council has pure intentions and conscience. Never forget that."

"Hey man," the visored 'bot held up both hand in a surrendering, calming gesture, "I have no problem with th' Screamer, even if he seems t' have one with me! . . . I can totally see how much he tries to do f' Iacon. Even if it ticks me off tha' he manages to get his armour more shiny than me!"

The red and blue mech smiled wryly at his friend, reaching over to grasp his arm in a warm, friendly grip.

"I know, Jazz, that you're the probably the last mech in the universe to hold a grudge against anyone. And forgive me if I made you upset," he sighed audibly this time, "- I didn't mean to imply that you're talking about Starscream behind his back."

"Eh, you're forgiven, 'Sir'," Jazz grinned, saluting playfully, throwing the name-list 'pad back into Optimus' lap, "Yer're a devil, ya know that? Ya're bringing both twins. They're gonna drive Screamer nuts!"

"That's why I though of bringing both Wheeljack and Bluestreak. . . They'll serve as perfect distraction for the 'Twin Terrors'."

"Hah! Ya're playin' matchmaker, too, now!" Jazz exclaimed, studying him with mock shock and outrage, "Though I think it's gonna get official with Sunny an' the 'Mad Scientist' soon, anyway."

"So many nicknames," the semi mused loudly, thinking it over, "We have the 'Twin Terrors', the 'Mad Scientist', the 'Holy Trinity'. . . Sometimes one could wonder if we don't have enough pastime-activities."

"Aww, come on, we always have getting' wasted once a weak and gossip-," he cut himself off quickly, clearly remembering the way Optimus had chastened him the night before for bringing that subject up, "- anyway, I read that ya're bringin' 'Percy?"

"Perceptor has expressed great interesting in returning to Earth with us. He knows a human scientist he wishes to visit." Optimus studied his friend's thoughtful expression, watched as the cheerfulness sobered.

"Uh huh," Jazz mumbled softly, chewing on his lip-plating with his dentals. "- I, ah, just kinda wanted t' talk t'him, right? He's been all weird 'n me lately; on Prowler, too."

He lifted a hand to his chest suddenly, obviously feeling Prowl through their bond, their connection, sensing something. All traces of a smile were gone now.

"Prowler's been upset f' a while. . . It's linked to 'Percy, I can tell, but-," he embraced his chest, his spark-chamber, as if to calm both himself and his beloved, "- he blocks our bond every time he senses Imma find out wha' bothers'im. . . An' he ain't willin' to talk 'bout it."

As Optimus watched his long-term friend, who had seen him in during his best and worst moments, seen him over-energized, seen him bleeding, seen him overload whilst lying horizontal. . . Jazz was a dear friend to him, Prowl certainly, too. Maybe even more so. He never really knew who he cherished the most of these two amazing mechs. It didn't matter who he loved the most, the both deserved happiness.

Jazz dimmed his visor, lips in a flat line, hand scratching carefully against his dark chest, obviously trying to reach Prowl over their connection.

The former Prime knew that even if he'd regret asking what he was about to ask, it had to be done, it had to be said. He just prayed it would work out in the end.

"Jazz?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you. . . Ever talk to Prowl about what happened between _us_?"

At Jazz uncomprehending gaze, the semi shifted uneasily in his seat, cleared his vocalisor.

"You know. . . All that time ago, before you even knew Prowl returned your feelings-"

"No."

"Sorry?" Optimus was mildly startled by the sheer panic in Jazz' face, no doubt about his optics widening behind their blue 'shield'.

"No. I haven't told'im," Jazz stated, also starting to feel uncomfortable about bringing that particular subject up, "An' I ain't gonna tell'im anytime soon, so. . . No."

"I'm. . . surprised, that's all," the semi admitted, making a pointed study of the floor of his living area, "One would think that a spark-bond and regular spark-merging would result in opening up all sorts of childhood, youth, and adult-experiences. . . and mistakes."

The smaller black and grey 'bot squirmed in his discomfort, licking his upper lip-plating, searching the room for something. . . probably an escape-way.

"Yeah, I guess. . . But, err, me 'n' Prowler agreed long 'go that there were things, stuff in life that we weren't proud 'f. An' so we promised not to, well, investigate hidden, all too intimate memories, if the other weren't up t' it. . . Or something."

". . . Mmm, that's alright, I think," Optimus mumbled, "I just thought that maybe it would help work things out between the three of you."

"How?" Jazz demanded suspiciously, but still not looking at the former Prime, "I didn't sleep with 'Percy, I slept with you!"

Ah, Silence!

Sweet, horrible, awkward silence. . . How I hate thee.

Optimus faked a human-like cough, got to his feet in a rush.

"Well, I just want to thank you for helping me out, Jazz. I always know I can count on you in stressing, demanding times."

"No prob," Jazz chirped, nearly stumbling over the table as he grabbed for the semi's offering farewell-servo, "The Jazz-man's always there in troubling times, right? Me, Prowler, an' the gang will keep Iacon up an' runnin' in your absence."

"I have no doubt in your potency," he winched at his own choice of words, quickly letting go of the smaller Autobot's 'hand', "- I mean, sorry, I-, _frag_!"

Jazz finally couldn't contain himself any longer, letting out a loud, spluttering snicker.

"Primus, I don' recall the last time things've been _this _awkward between me 'n' someone else," he collected his personal 'pads from the table, stuffed them into his subspace, "- This little trick of yours, makin' one loose his calm to this extreme, better not use it when wooin' a potential berth-partner, 'kay?"

"Okay," he huffed, feeling an embarrassed smile budding under his facemask, "- Are you and Prowl coming to see us off at the space bridge later?"

"'Course! Wouldn't wanna miss 't for anything in the world. OH, I almost forgot! Yeah, wait a minut'," Jazz exclaimed in excitement, pulling out a small disc from his subspace. "Here!"

"Uh," Optimus accepted it with a confused glint in his optics, ". . . Thanks?"

"Oh no, sorry, heeh, it's for Spike an' his family! I promised t' get'im some Cybertronian music, thought this'd be good," Optimus was flashed with the always charming trademark grin of his former TIC, Jazz obviously regaining his earlier easy-going composure, "- Primus, what am I _sayin'_? This ain't 'good', it's the _best_!"

"I'm certain it is. As expected from Jazz. . ."

"Yeah. Got quite the repetition goin' on on Earth now, too. . . By the time me 'n' Prowler are old an' rusted there won't be a singl' organism in the galaxy that haven't heard o' me!"

"Being ordinary isn't that bad, either," Optimus spoke softly, wistfully, mostly to himself. Jazz gazed at him in surprise, seeming to think something over.

". . . Hmm, when on Earth, will ya make sure to take som' time just for you? Just for doin' somethin' you wanna do, alone or with someone you feel like yourself with?"

"I'm going to stay on Earth for a whole week, Jazz. I certainly plan on spending some time having fun, as well as attending meetings."

"Good. . . I rather miss seein' you takin' on the basketball field!"

Optimus roared with laughter. Even as Jazz left, grin in place once more, he couldn't stop chuckling to himself.

* * *

Joors later Optimus was standing in the space bridge control room, trying to calm an overly excited Bluestreak down. The young gunner was speaking on and on about how 'utterly fantastic, amazing, surreal it was that they were gonna go see Bee, Hound and Mirage again, that those three probably would be there to greet them, because they were some of their best friends, and that it also was long time since he'd seen Spike, Carly and their son Daniel, and that Daniel probably, hopefully, remembered how they'd played hide and seek in the Ark once, and that Bee had cheated, because-' . . .

"Bluestreak," Optimus interrupted softly, smiling as the young Autobot literally had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, "I'm really excited, too. But you're not going to see Prowl for a week, and I think he wishes to say 'good-bye' properly. Why don't you say your farewells to him now?"

He gently pointed the younger in the direction of his former SIC, watched with a bemused smile as the usually professional and stoic police-car's feature's melted into a soft smile. The young, grey Datsun was chatting excitedly again, though he couldn't hear anything, the overall natter and exchanges of 'take care's between the Autobots and Decepticons who were to stay, and those who were to travel back to the United States of America.

He could see his mouth-piece moving, though. Constantly.

Prowl just listened, smiled, added a little input when necessary.

_Prowl, your patience truly is beyond this galaxy. __And, Primus, it's great to see you smile._

The semi watched Perceptor share a short word with Tracks, who was to remain on Earth, and then return to packing a few objects that looked like experiments into his subspace, Wheeljack standing at his side sharing short glances with the yellow Lamborghini-twin across the small room.

Both twins seemed very relaxed about returning to Earth, but Optimus knew that they cool demeanours only were for show. The way they both kept glancing to the space bridge, as if checking it for activity, if it had been turned on yet, proved the truck-transformer's theory.

Shockwave and Soundwave had arrived as some of the firsts, greeting the former Prime with acknowledging nods of their heads, which Optimus returned. He hadn't really had the change to fully have a conversation with either of them outside of the Council, about none-politic matters. But rumours had it that Shockwave was quite the talker once you got past his shell. Soundwave on the other hand seemed quite unapproachable. . . But one never knew until one had tried, Optimus decided, promising himself that he would try and get to know both of them.

Starscream arrived with his Trine, chatting, bickering, snickering all the way down the hall to the room, warning the already full room of their arrival. Optimus tried to catch a quick, yet subtle, glimpse of the red Seeker as he entered, tried to catch his optics, but the jet was too occupied with lecturing the others about running the Council in his and the other Decepticon Leaders' absence. Not that Skywarp didn't notice Optimus looking, and so he immediately began pointing in his direction, encouraging his older Trine-mate to 'go bother his boyfriend instead, because he slaggin' knew how to keep a town from blowing up in just an Orn's time'.

Optimus decided to immerse himself in something else then.

Kup and Rodimus were the last to arrive, the red and orange Prime looked unhappy when he felt all the present 'bots turn and look at them as the door slid shot behind them, and so he turned to face the tall, dark-green veteran, scowl making his young face look too old, too burdened.

"I knew we'd be late when I saw the time you woke me out of recharge, Kup! You should have roused me earlier so that I could attend to my duties properly."

"I realize you told me to wake you up in good time, Prime, but with all the high-grade you'd had last night I figured you'd need more slee-"

"I'm the Prime, right?" as Kup nodded, chastened and hurt, the Prime continued, "- yes, I am. _Not_ a sparkling for you to coddle. But the Prime. Everyday there're things to do, 'bots to meet, others' need to be attended to. . . I can allow myself small luxuries like sleeping in any longer now if I'm ever to be respected as the Leader of the Autobots, Bearer of the Matrix."

"I know, I-," Kup sighed, looking tired and old as well, and he took a few steps into the room, walking away from his protégée slowly, "I'll just go and explain myself to Optimus, if I may Prime?"

Rodimus lost his scowl and nodded, arms hugging his chest uncertainly for a moment until he realized what he was doing and crossed them instead, stared at the monitors controlling the bridge.

Optimus met Kup halfway, smiling softly at his old comrade. Kup shrugged softly, looking like he'd taken quite the verbally dashes that day.

"Yeah, I didn't wake him up," Kup just said, humourless smirk on his lips. Then he lowered his volume, "I don't know what Cronius told him last night, but he's upset and afraid, disguises it with rage."

"A visit to Earth will probably do him good," Optimus offered, patting the veteran's arm, noticing Track and other 'bots gesturing at the group of travellers to prepare for the

"I wonder. . ." Kup spoke softly, but then his sixth 'Rodimus'-sense kicked in as he felt him approach from behind, and he turned around, waiting. The young Prime and his mentor just looked at each other, Rodimus seeming unsure and lost, his guilt and shame warming his facial plating. Kup just shook his head gently, smiled as if to say '_we're okay!'. _It wasn't enough for Rodimus, though. There, hidden behind larger 'bots, the Prime gave Kup his silent apology by simply pressing a little closer, pressing his smaller chest to the larger's arm.

The semi heard the green Autobot's soft sigh, smiled to himself as he just _knew _that the veteran was fighting an intense battle against his urges to hug his Prime, hold him closer, protect him.

"Ready, everyone?" Tracks called, and grinned at the several affirmatives he received (including one actual _'Affirmative'_ from Soundwave. . .) "Awesome. In a minute's time you'll be off, the bridge is just downloading the right location, warming up for the main course!"

Optimus nodded at Tracks, then at Prowl, Jazz, and Ironhide, all standing by Track's side, smiling softly at him. Ratchet hadn't shown up. And it hurt.

Ironhide had explained that the CMO had claimed to be severely hung-over after his blunder last night. And while it wasn't unbelievable, taking how much he'd approximately consumed, it still. . . The semi sensed another reason for his absence. And that sense told him that _he_ was it, the reason. The unease in his circuits flared to life, once more. Burned him.

_Be safe, Ratchet. I'll see you soon. And I'll give my everything to make things right for the 'bots suffering, wherever they might be on Cybertron. Because no one deserves to suffer, no one deserves to live without freedom. _

"You know," Tracks commented from the monitor, turning around, 'hand' on his hip, winking at a snickering Bluestreak, "Right there ,on the other side of the space bridge, are all the leaders of Earth's nations, probably a billion different news-stations reporters and their cameras, red dot shinin'. . ."

"Your point?" Sideswipe drawled, puffing up his chest, trying to appear as large as the other flashy sports-car.

"My point is that," his teasing, blue optics glided over the ensemble, a smirk growing faintly on his lip-plating, "- hmm, maybe you should've, I dunno, dressed a little up for this?"

". . . . . . ."

"Got your bugs ready, Optimus?"

"'Jack!" the semi protested, but failed to sound overly outraged as a smile broke out on his face.

"Primus," Skywarp smiled as he was dragged away from the bridge's entrance by the older, black and blue Seeker, "Earth ain't ready for you guys. . ."

"Ya _still_ need to tell me yer secret, Starshine!" Jazz called over the crowd as the bridge was slowly activated with a loud hum of electricity, "How d'ya get yer armour that shiny?"

"I told you, Jazz," came the screechy retort, "Dead. Baby. _Bunnies_!"

"I don't wanna know," Prowl stated, tightening his grip on his bond-mate's servo.

Perceptor bit his bottom lip hard, and was the first to walk away into the buzzing, roaring bridge of thunder. Then he was gone. Optimus took one last glimpse out the window, took in the sight of the living and thriving Iacon. He prayed it would look the same when he returned.

_Be safe._

He walked determinately into the port of the bridge, into stars and noise, collisions and impossible speed. White. It was so _white_.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a faraway quarter, a tired CMO stumbled out of his berth, emptied his protesting energon-tank all over the already messy floor.

_Never again, _he told himself, grimacing, _never again will I put my lips to a cube of high-grade_.

Ratchet check his internal clock, cursed, nearly teared up. He'd only managed to shut himself down for a few Kliks this time, no longer.

No recharge tonight, neither. He hadn't recharged in the longest time, in Orns. And some logical, still somewhat well-functioning part of his mind told him that he wouldn't recharge anytime soon. Not as things were now.

_Primus. . . _

Prime's shocked, hurt face last night. Ratchet hadn't truly meant to cause other's pain, that wasn't really his job in the society. . . But in his desperation he had just had to try opening the other's optics to the horrors of his situation, their situation. He had wanted to make his friend understand that he, Ratchet, was in severe need of _something more _than _one _measly ship-loading of energon to the dying Cybertronians.

Given that getting over-energized before starting his rant hadn't been his best strategy yet. He vaguely remembered bringing the red flying 'Con into it, only managing to upset Optimus even more.

His face had been. . .

_Never again will I touch that poisonous stuff!_

He checked his internal clock again, sighed. They'd taken off now, no doubt, his former Commander and the others. Ratchet understood with himself that he had to make a quick decision now. He didn't have a lot of time left. No doubt Ironhide would swing by again in a matter of Kliks, check up on him and/or berate him for not showing up and wishing Optimus and the others a safe trip. They called him selfish, told him that he was too proud, his processor too high-wrung . . . but what did _they_ know?

No doubt they'd never tried forcing a recharge-program onto their own systems because their circuits were too distressed, too conflicted to calm themselves. Because every night a medic went to his chambers, sat down to relax, his of her processor reminded him or her that there _still _were someone out there in need of help, or repairs, of salvation.

Ratchet hid his face in his knees with an agonized groan.

Flaiz. His Shadow Valley comrades. They were suffering, their small creations dying. And the High Council had actually been sitting on their afts _discussing _whether or not to get involved!

_And everybody expected Ratchet to go into a calm, worry-free recharge every night? _

They were all unconsciously_ torturing _him. They forced him against his own programming as a medical operator.

Ratchet groaned, clawed at his aching head, stared around at the mess he called his quarters. Medical equipment everywhere, empty cubes of high-grade on the floor, messy, broken trinkets from Earth he'd thrown around in his frustration, when he couldn't take his anger out on others.

It hurt, it _hurt_.

And forcing his systems into emergency shut-down to finally rest and escape his misery by over-consuming energon and high-grades hadn't worked. Every single instinct still ordered him, urged him to help, travel out, help them. And he couldn't ignore those voices no longer.

He stumbled over to his table, grabbed a small repair-kit, some more rations of energon, a few other necessities, packed it. He caught a look of himself in the broken mirror on the opposite wall, the cracked reflection stared back at him in shock, disorientation, yet determination.

I'm going, _I'm going._

I'm coming to you, now, I'm coming. I won't stop 'til I've reached you, made things _right_ again.

I promise, _I promise. . ._

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~ ~ ~ TBC ~ ~ ~

**Soooooo littleeeee progreeeessssss 8'D *le sob***

**Anyhoo: Oh dear, Ratchet's off. . . And probably off to get himself into trouble. And meanwhile OP and his merry men are heading off to Earth, where I'm sure a lot of stuff will happen (What the H~? I'm the author! I should know that!) . . . . . The actual, original plot **_**is **_**slowly blending in with the current storyline, I promise!**

***ahem* Yeah, about the sudden shifts in POV – I figured it'd be weird if OP, mah main maaan, was to stand and observe/analyze all that vulnerability and awkwardness that was the exchange between Skyfire and Screamer. Same goes for that last Ratchet-angsts-and-plots-'scene' of mine. . . But **_**most**_** of this story will be seen through Optimus' eyes. **

**Ummm, and I dunno how ya guys feel about the lack of femme-'bots thus far? I won't mind writing them at all - the only reason that I haven't included any of the known 'female'-characters yet is that I am absolutely clueless as to how they should be written! Elita, Chromia, Arcee . . . Yeah, I remember the names, but beyond that they're complete strangers to me. Feel free to PM me or something about their personalities, looks, etc. if you think I should integrate them in the plot (**_**what**_** plot, damnation?) And I'll give it a go ;D**

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**Please, reviews? Remember what I said to y'all about the fire? XD**

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